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BO f iff  STCiRV 


Adrienne  de  i  ortalis 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

Author  of 
Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"    "The  Fighting  Troubadour,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1900, 

by 
A.  C.   GUNTER. 


All  rights  reserved. 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS 


BOOK  I 
THE  RUNAWAY  BARONESS 


I.  The  Grasp  of  Monsieur  Vidocq        .         -5 
II.  The  Passport  of  the  Dead        .         .         .14 

III.  The  Montereau  Boat       .         .         .         .25 

IV.  A  Curious  Night  Ride     .         .         .         .37 
V.  The   Metamorphosis  of    Madame   la 

Baronne 55 


BOOK  II 

A  PATRIOT  CONSPIRATOR 


VI.  The  Austrian  Captain      .  .  .         .69 

VII.   The  Voice  in  the  Night  .  .  .         .78 

VIII.    "We   Must    Strike  Before  the   Flowers 

Bloom!  "          .         .  .  .  -      .     92 
IX.    "How's  That  for  a  Close-fisted   British 

Lover  of  Liberty  ?  "  .  .         .    103 

X.  The  Pursuing  Shadow      .  .  .         .114 


CONTENTS 

BOOK    III 


THE  TOUCH  OF  LOVE 


XI.  The  Hand  of  Bolza          .         .         .         .130 
XII.   "  Last  Night  You  Did  Not  Think  Me  a 

Child!"  .        ,£•   "   .         .         .144 

XIII.  The  Commotion  at  the  Opera  House       .   151 

XIV.  "  Now,  It  Is  Thy  Head  or  Mine!  ".         .  164 


BOOK    IV 
THE  NAKED  HANDS  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


XV.  The  Young  Lady  Smuggler     .         .         -179 

XVI.  The  Arms  in  the  Hay      .         .         .         .188 

XVII.  The  Three  Temptations         .         .         .197 

XVIII.  Some  Curious  News  from  England         .   211 

XIX.  Two  Gentlemen  Whisper  in   the   Opera 

Box          ......   223 

XX.  Madame  lago          .....   234 

XXI.  The  Populace  Cast  Down  Their  Idol       .   242 

XXII.  A  Letter  that  Shakes  an  Empire      .          .    250 

XXIII.  Saved  By  One  Whiff  of  a  Cigar        .         .   260 

XXIV.  "I  Will  Make  Sacrifice!"         .         .         .273 
XXV.  The  Hands  of  the  People         .         .         .283 

XXVI.  The  Fight  for  the  Tosa  Gate         .         .   292 

XXVII.  The  Captain  of  Garibaldians    .         .         .  301 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 


BOOK  I. 

THE  RUNAWAY  BARONESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  GRASP  OF  MONSIEUR  VIDOCQ. 

"  Halt,  in  the  name  of  the  Law !  "  cries  a  man  in  a 
pursuing  fiacre. 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  drive  on !  "  screams  a  desperate 
girl  to  the  coachman  of  a  hack  racing  nearly  a  hundred 
yards  in  advance  of  the  pursuing  carriage,  which  holds 
two  mouchards  of  the  galley-slave-chief-of-detectives, 
Monsieur  Eugene  Frangois  Vidocq. 

So  the  two  vehicles  rattle  over  the  stones  of  the  Ave- 
nue de  Neuilly  and  reach  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 

Crouched  on  the  cushions  of  her  coupe  the  girl,  her 
slight  form  draped  in  the  somber  weeds  of  widowhood, 
gazes  back  at  the  voiture  that  is  following  her,  and 
notes,  though  its  horses  are  whipped  remorselessly,  it 
does  not  gain  upon  the  one  in  which  she  sits  wringing 
her  hands,  the  gloom  of  the  evening  scarcely  concealing 
the  pathetic  terror  of  her  beautiful,  innocent,  and  almost 
childlike  eyes. 

"  HAJLT,  IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  KING!  " 

"  A  hundred  francs  and  you  get  me  into  Paris  safe 
from  these  awful  men !  "  sobs  the  girl,  the  sweetness  of 
her  voice  made  harsher  by  the  latent  terror  in  it. 


O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  Please,  please,  Monsieur,  here's  the  money !  "  A  lit- 
tle, white,  ungloved  hand  slips  into  his  brawny  one  a 
couple  of  fifty-franc  notes. 

"  There  is  a  revolution  in  Paris  to-night,  and  to-mor- 
row there  will  be  no  King!  "  jeers  the  hackman  back  at 
his  pursuers.  Then  actuated  a  little  by  the  helpless 
beauty  of  his  youthful  charge,  and  still  more  by  the 
thought  of  five  louis  in  his  pocket,  he  whips  his  way 
down  the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  and  passing  the 
Rond  Point  gets  nearer  to  the  great  boulevards  of  a  city 
convulsed  by  the  commotion  of  dethroning  a  dynasty. 

For  this  is  the  last  night  of  Louis  Philippe,  the  Re- 
publican King;  this  is  the  last  day  of  the  bourgeoisie 
Paris,  which  has  rested  so  quietly  since  the  Restoration. 

Having  grown  tired  of  the  tranquillity  of  a  citizen- 
king,  it  now  desires  some  other  government — what,  it 
does  not  know — anything  to  give  it  the  vivacity  of 
change.  So  this  night,  the  French  Revolution  of  1848 
is  on ! 

An  ovation  to  Monsieur  Odilon  Barrot  has  changed 
a  week  ago  into  a  cry  against  Monsieur  Guizot.  This 
has  grown  into  a  wild  rebellion  of  the  undisciplined  Na- 
tional Guard  and  a  fantastic  populace  against  a  king 
who  has  not  the  courage  to  treat  them  a  la  Napoleon, 
and  feed  them  with  grapeshot  and  musket  balls. 

The  political  ferment  of  the  week  has  brought  about 
a  financial  ferment.  Disaster  has  struck  the  Paris 
Bourse.  The  first  raflway  furor  has  just  run  its  course, 
and  the  stocks  of  the  newly  built  chemins  de  fers,  con- 
necting Paris  with  London,  via  Calais  and  Boulogne, 
and  those  in  course  of  construction  from  the  capital  of 
France  toward  the  Mediterranean,  have  depreciated 
more  than  half  their  value  on  the  Paris  Exchange. 
Financial  ruin  has  stricken  the  trading  classes,  who 
have  invested  their  savings  in  them.  This  has  expedited 
the  political  ruin  which  is  about  to  come  upon  the  aris- 
tocracy, who  have  flocked  back  with  their  king  to 
France  after  the  last  downfall  of  Napoleon. 

So  on  this  night,  the  twenty-third  of  February,  1848, 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  7 

the  streets  of  the  French  capital  are  a  mass  of  hurrying 
citizens,  soldiers  robed  in  the  gorgeous  uniforms  of  the 
National  Guard,  mingled  with  patriotic  tradesmen  and 
blue-bloused  workmen,  singing  the  revolutionary  songs 
of  the  period,  the  "Chant  du  Depart,"  and  "  Mourir 
pour  la  Patrie;  "  though  a  few,  more  bloodthirsty  than 
their  fellows,  are  shouting  "  La  Marseillaise,"  causing 
the  more  soberminded  Parisian  shopkeepers  to  grow 
very  pale,  for  at  that  day  this  song  was  linked  very 
closely  in  French  minds  with  the  guillotine  and  political 
massacre,  a  good  many  hearing  it  this  night  having  lost 
their  ancestors,  male  and  female,  fifty  years  before, 
when  France,  singing  it,  had  become  a  maniac  nation. 

But  whatever  they  sing  or  cry,  whether  it  is  "  Vive 
la  Reform,"  or  "  Vive  la  Republique,"  or  "  Vive  la 
Nation,"  no  one  dares  to  cry  "  Vive  le  Roi."  They  are 
all  determined  to  make  an  end  of  the  demure,  placid 
Paris  of  Louis  Philippe ;  that  self-righteous  bourgeoisie 
Paris  that  Paul  de  Kock  and  Eugene  Sue  described,  of 
which  Alfred  de  Musset  sang,  under  whose  surface 
was  an  abandon  and  debauchery  which  would  have 
done  honor  to  Sodom  and  graced  Gomorrah;  a  city 
where  that  celebrated  cabaret  of  Father  Guillotine 
called  "  La  Queue  du  Chat "  (The  Tail  of  the  Cat), 
flourished,  in  which  its  fantastic  dancers  passed  the  pipe 
along,  and  gentlemen  transferred  the  quid  of  tobacco 
from  their  brutal  mouths  to  the  pouting  lips  of  the 
nymphs  with  whom  they  tripped  the  measures  ;*  where 
the  cancan  raged,  at  the  Grande  bals  d'Opera,  under 
Musard's  inspiring  music ;  a  dance  that  was  intensified 
at  the  Mabille,  made  more  voluptuous  at  the  Grande 
Chaumiere,  and  developed  into  the  wildest  debauchery 
at  the  Closerie  des  Lilas,  as  the  young  gentlemen  of  the 
Ouartier  Latin  footed  it  with  the  prettiest  etudiantes. 

But  no  revolution  takes  place  in  Paris  without  in- 
describable excitement  and  a  blood  letting,  great  or 
small.  So  to-night  the  streets  are  full  of  the  rabble  of 

*  For  further  description  of  this  peculiar  olace  see  The  Memoirs  of  Vidoco, 
p.  345.— ED. 


8  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

Paris,  and  their  friends,  the  National  Guard,  with  guns 
loaded;  though  about  the  Tuilleries  and  main  boule- 
vards, the  half-hearted  legions  of  a  monarch  even  now 
making  ready  for  flight,  are  drawn  up  to  presrve  order, 
and  to  support  a  government  that  is  tottering. 

A  portion  of  these  troops  are  stationed  on  the  Bou- 
levard des  Capucines,  to  prevent  the  populace  going  in 
mass  to  serenade  Odilon  Barrot.  Around  them  surge 
the  passions  of  a  Parisian  revolution  and  the  fantastic 
fury  of  a  Gallic  mob.  Cobblestones  will  soon  en- 
counter bayonets;  blue  blouses  and  red  shirts  are  about 
to  grapple  with  the  uniforms  of  the  regular  army  under 
the  shadows  of  night,  which,  while  they  disguise  the 
horrors  of  such  a  combat,  add  to  them  an  indefinite 
vagueness  that  is  appalling. 

It  is  into  this  Paris  that  the  frightened  girl  comes 
flying  along  the  Avenue  Champs  Elysees  drawn  by 
tired  horses  that  are  being  whipped  to  their  utmost 
speed  by  her  cocker,  who  has  received  the  greatest  pour 
boire  of  his  life.  She  gazes  abstractedly  at  the  big 
buildings  on  the  main  boulevards  looming  up  before 
her,  in  the  gloom  of  evening.  As  her  carriage  leaves 
the  picturesque  cafes  and  cabarets  and  the  leafless 
winter  trees  of  the  main  drive  that  this  night  is  quite 
deserted — all  amusement  places  being  closed  and 
Parisians  not  engaged  in  the  revolution  thinking  it  safer 
to  remain  indoors — the  graceful  figure  of  the  fugitive 
shivers,  though  not  from  cold ;  for  a  raging  i  -ver  is  in 
her  veins.  She  is  flying  from  everything  that  \  as  made 
her  former  life.  She  is  turning  her  back  upon  a  past 
that  has  been  unhappy,  escaping  from  a  future  that  she 
feels  will  be  more  horrible — a  future  in  which  she  sees 
the  prison,  perhaps  even  the  executioner. 

Her  coupe  is  still  pursued  remorselessly  by  the  car- 
riage bearing  the  two  mouchards.  As  they  fly  past  the 
bronze  horse  on  the  Cirque  National,  one  of  them 
chuckles  to  the  other :  "  We'll  have  our  hands  upon 
the  little  widow  in  a  jiffy.  Old  Vidocq  values  the  child 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  9 

at  ten  thousand  francs.  We'll  catch  Madame  in  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde." 

But  they  do  not  catch  "  Madame  "  in  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde.  Fear  dares  more  than  avarice.  The  girl 
widow  shrieks  to  her  coachman,  "  For  the  love  of  the 
Virgin,  and  another  hundred  francs,  drive  faster !  " 

"  Madame,  there  is  a  great  crowd.  Tonnerre  de 
Dieu,  I  hear  a  pistol  shot !  " 

"  Five  hundred  francs  if  you  get  me  to  Monsieur 
Perrier's,  in  the  Rue  du  Sender." 

"Aha,  the  bankers?" 

"  Yes.  There  I'll  pay  you  the  money !  I  swear  it 
by  the  cross  !  " 

" Diable,  I'll  take  the  chance!  " 

The  coachman  whips  his  horses  through  the  square, 
forcing  back  the  hurrying  crowd  and  nearly  running 
over  one  or  two  gamins,  who  do  not  fly  from  him  rapidly 
enough.  So  they  speed  through  the  square,  and  turn- 
ing into  the  Rue  de  la  Concorde  dash  from  it  into  the 
Boulevard  Madeleine,  followed  by  curses  and  sacres 
from  the  enraged  populace. 

Here  the  crowd  surges  around  them,  and  cuts  off  the 
chasing  carriage,  the  occupants  of  which  come  to  grief, 
a  thief  in  the  mob  crying  out,  "  Norn  de  Dieu,  there's 
Salache,  one  of  Vidocq's  fly  catchers !  "  With  this,  the 
two  officers  are  pulled  from  their  fiacre,  battered  till 
they  scream,  and  are  lucky  to  escape  with  their  lives 
from  the  assaults  of  a  crowd,  a  good  many  of  whom 
bear  no  love  to  the  great  galley-slave-detective  and  his 
myrmidons. 

Looking  back  at  the  disaster  that  has  come  upon  her 
pursuers,  the  girl  bursts  into  a  childlike  laugh  and  cries 
to  her  coachman :  "  See !  M on  Dieu,  the  crowd  are  beat- 
ing our  enemies !  "  But  this  crowd  is  now  packed  in 
front  of  her  coach  also,  and  prevents  advance.  Then 
there  is  the  sound  of  a  distant  volley  up  the  Boulevard 
des  Capucines,  and  the  mob  rushes  backward,  some 
uttering  cries  of  fear,  and  others  shouts  of  rage. 

"  Stop  those  damned  horses,  and  knock  that  accursed 


1O  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

coachman  on  the  head !  "  commands  a  gigantic,  fero- 
cious, blue-bloused  sans-culotte. 

But  the  Jehu  is  too  quick,  and,  dashing  into  a  side 
street,  drives  north  through  the  Rue  Caumarlin,  along 
which  street  a  number  of  the  rioters  also  fly. 

"  Quick !  "  calls  the  young  lady,  in  whose  brown  eyes 
fear  is  now  dominated  by  excitement.  "  The  five  hun- 
dred francs  at  the  door  of  Monsieur  Perrier.  Hurry 
for  my  life !  " 

"  Sapristi,  I'll  do  it  for  my  own! "  mutters  the  cocker, 
and  whips  up  rapidly,  going  east  through  the  Rue  des 
Mathurins,  then  turning  south  into  the  Chaussee 
d'Antin,  foolishly  attempting  to  again  make  the  main 
boulevards. 

But  as  he  approaches  the  Des  Capucines,  suddenly 
the  roll  of  musketry  comes  solid  and  prolonged  in  three 
awful  volleys;  the  street  they  are  in  is  thronged  by  a 
Parisian  mob,  flying  for  their  lives;  fugitives,  with 
limbs  dripping  blood,  pass  them ;  the  ferocious  women 
of  the  slums,  with  hoarse  cries  of  terror,  surge  around 
them ;  screaming  men,  in  the  uniform  of  the  National 
Guard,  scurry  from  their  brothers  of  the  regular  army, 
whose  volleys  are  now  stirring  Paris  to  madness  and 
sealing  the  fate  of  the  king  they  defend. 

Following  this  crowd,  which  has  now  become  a  little 
thinner,  staggers  a  bleeding  woman,  humbly  yet  neatly 
dressed.  With  a  moaning  sigh  she  falls  on  the  side- 
walk beside  the  carriage,  which  the  coachman  has  has- 
tily pulled  up. 

Seeing  this,  the  trembling  fugitive  in  the  interior 
trembles  no  more.  She  calls  quickly :  "  Let  me  out, 
please  let  me  out!  There  is  a  wounded  woman  in  the 
street." 

In  a  second  the  door  of  the  hack  is  opened,  and  an 
angel  of  mercy  is  beside  the  sufferer.  The  subdued 
light  of  a  flickering  street-lamp  permits  her  to  see 
that  the  bosom  of  the  modest  dress  is  stained  with 
blood.  "  del,  they  have  murdered  you !  "  cries  the  girl, 
wringing  her  hands, 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  II 

"  A  shot  in  the  body,"  murmurs  the  fainting  creature, 
then  sighs :  "  If — if  I  could  only  get  home." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"  Number  forty-five  Rue  Joubert." 

"  It  is  but  a  step  from  here,  and  in  the  right  direc- 
tion— away  from  the  troops,"  remarks  the  listening 
cocker. 

"  Then  help  me  to  put  her  into  the  hack !  "  cries  the 
lady. 

A  moment  after  the  driver  places  the  wounded  wom- 
an in  the  vehicle,  and  the  young  lady,  getting  in  beside 
her  charge,  strives  to  fan  the  pale  face  of  the  sufferer 
with  her  handkerchief,  as  the  coach  is-  turned  to  the 
north  again  and  driven  rapidly  up  the  Rue  Chaussee 
d'Antin. 

Five  minutes  after  they  are  in  front  of  No.  45  Rue 
Joubert.  Its  door  is  open.  From  it  the  concierge  has 
wandered  to  see  the  grand  game  going  on  this  night  in 
Paris. 

To  her  nurse  the  wounded  woman  murmurs :  "  My 
room  is  au  quartrieme,  number  twenty-six,  the  key  is 
in  the  concierge's  loge." 

Beckoning  the  coachman  to  her  aid,  the  girl,  who  now 
seems  a  ministering  angel,  with  his  assistance,  lifts  the 
almost  fainting  woman  from  the  coupe,  and  carries  her 
up  three  flights  of  stairs  to  a  plainly  furnished,  yet 
cleanly  apartment. 

Opening  the  door  of  this  with  the  key  taken  from  the 
room  of  the  concierge  below,  the  two  put  the  sufferer 
upon  a  bed. 

Then  the  young  lady  places  a  twenty-franc  piece  in 
the  hands  of  the  cocker,  and  pleads :  "  Please  go  my 
errand,  Monsieur.  A  doctor,  quick!  Likewise  some 
brandy,"  suggesting :  "  You  can  buy  it  at  a  chemist's,  I 
believe." 

"  Also  a  priest,"  murmurs  the  wounded  woman,  "  the 
doctor  will  not  aid  me." 

"  The  priest,  also,"  begs  the  girl.    "  Get  them  all !  I 


12  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

will  undress  her.  I  am  strong  enough.  Please  go 
quickly,  for  the  love  of  mercy !  " 

Gazing  on  her  innocent  brown  eyes  that  are  now 
made  more  beautiful  by  womanly  tenderness,  and 
noting  the  childish  graces  of  his  petitioner,  the  coach- 
man mutters  to  himself :  "  Tonnerre  de  Dien,  these 
cursed  mouchards  are  chasing  for  a  thief  a  sister  of 
charity!  "  and  so  goes  on  his  errand. 

The  moment  the  fellow  has  gone,  the  self-appointed 
nurse  devotes  herself  to  her  patient ;  moistens  the  pallid 
brow  with  water,  which  she  takes  from  a  pitcher ;  fans 
the  gasping  lips  with  an  open  book,  and,  finally,  at- 
temps  to  remove  the  dress  of  the  fainting  woman.  But, 
as  she  opens  the  bosom  of  the  garment,  and  takes  from 
the  neck  of  her  patient  a  little  leather  portemonnaie  that 
is  suspended  from  it  by  a  narrow  ribbon,  there  is  re- 
vealed a  gaping  bullet  hole.  Then  she  pauses,  dreading 
she  may  reopen  the  wound. 

"  Yes,"  says  the  woman  faintly  to  her,  "  you  can 
do  me  little  good — though  God  bless  you.  I  am  bleed- 
ing internally." 

"No,  no!" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it."  Then,  her  hands  fluttering  slight- 
ly, she  sighs :  "  My  husband !  Oh,  grace  de  Dieu!  My 
death  will  be  cruel  to  him  who  hoped  to  feel  my  arms 
within  this  week." 

"  Your  husband,"  whispers  the  girl,  "  he  is  not  in 
Paris?" 

"  No.  He  is  a  lineman  on  the  new  railroad  they  are 
running  from  Genoa  to  Turin.  I  was  to  leave  to-mor- 
row to  join  him  in  far  away  Italy.  I  had  just  obtained 
my  passport  this  afternoon,  the  one  in  the  little  pocket- 
book  that  is  in  your  hand ;  I  had  been  bidding  some 
friends  good-by,  and,  returning,  was  caught  in  the  con- 
course in  the  Des  Capucines.  I  could  not  get  out  of  the 
awful  crowd.  Suddenly  there  came  a  volley  of  mus- 
ketry, and  I  fled.  I  was  knocked  down  and  trampled 
on.  Then  there  was  another  volley  and  singing  bullets 
everywhere.  I  struggled  to  my  feet  and  fled  on,  and 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  1$ 

as  I  ran  death  came  to  me.  Something  stung  my  back 
— but  what  has  happened  ?  Where  am  I  ?  Yes — I  know 
now — in  my  room.  Shot  to  death!  Who  will  tell  my 
poor  Gaspard  ? " 

"  You  mean  your  husband?  Tell  me  his  full  name," 
asks  the  girl.  "  I  will  write  to  him  if  it  is  so  bad — but 
courage — you  will  recover !  " 

"  No — I — I  am  dying  now,"  sighs  the  wounded 
woman.  "  You'll — you'll  find  my  name  and  his  in  that 
pocketbook — besides,  la  concierge  can  tell  you.  God 
bless  you  for  your  goodness.  But  for  the  love  of  God — 
the  priest !  Don't  let  me  die  without  the  priest !  " 

As  if  in  irony  to  her  petition  come  the  words  of  the 
returned  coachman : 

"  Madame,  I  could  not  find  a  doctor.  They  are  all 
out  on  the  streets  like  the  rest." 

"  Ah,  but  you  have  the  brandy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  got  a  flask  of  eau  de  vie,  at  the  druggist's  in 
the  Rue  d'Antin.  They  have  two  wounded  men  in  there 
and  three  dead  ones." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  liquor! "  cries  the  girl,  and  a  mo- 
ment after  pours  some  of  it  down  the  throat  of  the  faint- 
ing woman,  who  now  murmurs,  almost  despairingly : 
"The  priest?" 

"  Diable!  I  forgot  the  priest,"  mutters  the  hackman, 
in  half  apologetic  tone. 

"  Oh,  God  forgive  you !  "  gasps  the  sufferer.  "  You 
can  not  save  my  body ;  do  a  little  for  my  soul." 

"  Please,  please,  Monsieur,  drive  for  a  priest  quick !  " 
implores  the  self-appointed  nurse  excitedly,  then  sud- 
denly pauses,  and,  looking  at  the  agonized  face  of  the 
dying  woman,  murmurs  :  "  Too  late !  Too  late  for  the 
priest !  "  For  blood  is  flowing  from  the  pale  lips  of  the 
expiring  creature,  choking  half  uttered  words. 

Her  fluttering  hands  are  raised  as  if  pleading  to 
Heaven. 

With  the  quick  impulse  of  convent  education,  the 
watcher  suddenly  plucks  a  rosary  from  her  white  neck, 
and  places,  with  childlike  faith,  its  cross  upon  the  pal- 


14  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

lid  lips  of  the  dying.  Clinging  to  it,  these  kiss  the  em- 
blem of  our  Redeemer;  the  face  twitching  with  the 
agony  of  a  departing  soul,  glows  with  hope  of  God,  the 
glazing  eyes  grow  calm;  then  with  a  little,  quiet  flut- 
tering sigh  they  close. 

Uttering  a  shuddering  cry,  the  girl  sinks  on  her  knees 
beside  the  dead  woman.  The  hackman,  impressed  by 
the  presence  of  the  King  of  Terrors,  crosses  himself, 
and  mutters :  "  You  will  find  me,  Madame,  down  stairs, 
waiting  for  you,"  and  with  quiet  feet  leaves  the  room. 

Three  minutes  after  the  girl  stops  her  prayers,  which 
have  been  offered  up  devoutly.  Rising  quietly,  she 
gazes  upon  the  thing  of  clay  before  her,  and  murmurs 
despairingly :  "  Your  plight  is  better  than  mine ;  oh 
Heaven,  if  I  were  but  you ! ''  A  moment  later  she  almost 
staggers,  and  gasps,  "  I — I  feel  so  faint !  "  The  excite- 
ment of  the  affair  having  passed  she  remembers  that 
she  has  not  tasted  food  since  morning. 

With  this  she  hurriedly  swallows  a  little  of  the 
brandy  the  cabman  had  brought.  The  liquor  seems  to 
burn  her  throat ;  then  surges  through  her  veins,  giving 
her  new  strength.  Her  eyes  flash  with  the  desperate 
courage  of  extreme  youth  before  experience  has  taught 
the  dangers  of  the  world.  She  mutters  hoarsely,  but 
determinedly,  "  Now  for  myself !  "  then  wrings  her 
hands,  and  sighs :  "  Pursued  as  a  criminal !  Mon 
Diett,  if  my  poor  dead  mother  saw  me  now !  "  Then 
bursting  into  childish  tears  she  staggers  from  the 
presence  of  death. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PASSPORT  OF  THE  DEAD. 

Two  minutes  later,  the  girl,  wiping  the  tears  from 
her  blue  eyes,  steps  into  the  room  of  la  concierge  to 
notify  her  of  the  death  of  her  lodger.  The  woman  has 
returned,  but  is  in  a  state  of  drunken  insensibility,  and 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  15 

a  little  boy  who  is  looking  in  from  the  street  states  that 
Mere  Camouse  has  been  carousing  with  her  man  of  the 
National  Guard,  who,  to-morrow,  will  get  drunk  in  the 
Tuileries ;  adding,  in  juvenile  patriotism :  "  Vive  la  Re- 
publique !  Vive  Egalite !  Vive  La  Mort !  " 

Not  heeding  the  chatter  of  the  gamin,  the  young  lady, 
hastily  looking  at  a  little  jeweled  watch,  hangs  the  key 
of  number  twenty-six  on  the  wall,  then  steps  out  on  the 
sidewalk. 

Here  she  puts  a  delicate  hand  into  the  rough  grasp  of 
the  waiting  coachman,  and  makes  him  her  friend  by 
whispering :  "  Thank  you,  Monsieur,  for  being  so  good 
to  her ;"  then  adds,  her  voice  very  eager,  "  Now  at  top 
speed  to  Monsieur  Perrier,  Rue  du  Sentier !  " 

The  next  minute  she  is  being  rapidly  driven  to  the 
house  of  the  banker,  for  the  coachman  is  growing  anx- 
ious to  see  the  promised  five  hundred  francs. 

Rendered  cautious  by  the  episode  of  the  Des  Capu- 
cines,  he  does  not  again  dare  the  main  boulevards,  but 
drives  hurriedly  through  the  Rues  Provence  and  Richer 
to  the  Rue  de  Faubourg  de  Poissonniere,  and  by  this, 
reaching  the  boulevard  of  that  name,  makes  his  way  to 
the  Rue  du  Sentier. 

Here  in  an  old-fashioned  house  lives  an  old-fashioned 
banker,  who  keeps  his  money  counter  under  his  eye 
night  and  day,  living  in  apartments  above  his  place  of 
business.  Fortunately  it  is  not  late,  and  there  are  still 
lights  in  the  house. 

The  massive  door  being  opened  to  her  knock,  the  girl 
whispers  to  the  old  servitor :  "  Tell  Monsieur  Perrier 
that  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis  wishes  to  see  him 
immediately  on  business  of  importance." 

Recognizing  the  visitor,  the  servant  bows  very  low, 
and  immediately  ushers  her  into  a  small  room  that  is 
part  office  and  part  library. 

"  I  will  announce  you  to  Monsieur  Perrier,"  he  says, 
and  withdraws,  as  the  girl  sinks  upon  a  sofa,  making  a 
pretty  picture  of  despondency. 

For  convenience  in  her  flight  she  has  discarded  the 


16  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

long,  dark  veil  of  widowhood,  and  a  pretty  black  hat  is 
perched  upon  her  locks  of  waving  brown  hair,  that, 
under  the  lamp  light,  has  occasional  flickers  of  gold, 
which  contrast  strongly  with  the  dress  of  crepe,  the 
bodice  of  which,  after  the  fashion  of  the  time,  is  laced 
tightly  down  the  back,  giving  suggestions  of  graceful 
outlines  that  are  just  taking  the  glorious  contours  of 
exquisite  womanhood.  After  the  mode,  the  corsage  is 
open  at  the  throat  to  display  a  mass  of  snowy  cambric 
and  lace  that  shades  the  ivory  nec_k  of  the  young  lady. 
Below  the  waist  the  boufant  petticoats  of  the  period 
extend  the  ample  jupe  that  just  permits  a  glimpse  of 
a  petite  slipper,  for  in  school-girl  fashion  Madame  la 
Baronne  has  sat  down  upon  one  of  her  little  feet. 

As  the  girl  muses  despairingly,  once  or  twice  clinching 
her  fingers  in  nervous  agitation,  her  brown  eyes  light 
upon  the  pocketbook  of  the  dead  that,  for  safety,  she 
had  attached  by  its  little  ribbon  to  her  wrist. 

"  I  must  send  this  to  the  woman's  husband,"  she 
thinks,  and  remembering  she  has  been  told  that  his 
address  is  within  it,  hurriedly  opens  it.  It  contains  a 
letter  written  from  Italy,  which  states  that  it  incloses 
a  draft  to  his  dear  Adele,  for  the  expenses  of  her 
journey  to  Genoa,  and  is  signed  "  Pierre  Gaspard 
Pichoir."  This  draft  has,  apparently,  been  cashed,  for 
there  are  a  few  hundred  francs  in  bills  and  small  money 
in  the  pocketbook. 

Besides  this,  there  is  a  passport,  "  issued  to  Adele 
Eulalie  Pichoir,  occupation,  seamstress,  a  French  sub- 
ject; age  twenty-five,  dark  hair,  black  eyes,  height  five 
feet  six  inches ;  the  wife  of  Pierre  Gaspard  Pichoir,  also 
a  French  subject,  attached  to  the  Bureau  of  Construc- 
tion of  the  Genoa  and  Turin  Railway,  his  present  home 
being  Genoa.  It  permits  her  journey  out  of  France,  via 
Marseilles,  to  Italy.  On  being  viseed  by  any  French 
consul  it  allows  the  return  of  Adele  Eulalie  Pichoir  to 
France." 

"Yes,  even  in  my  own  danger,  even  in  my  own  mis- 
ery, I  can  not  forget  this  poor  bereaved  fellow.    I  will 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  17 

write  now,"  thinks  the  girl,  and  closing  the  pocketbook 
turns  toward  an  open  desk,  but  is  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  an  old  gentleman  of  precise  manner,  but 
kindly  mien. 

Coming  hurriedly  in,  he  raises  his  eyebrows,  and 
ejaculates:  "  My  dear  child,  my  poor  Adrienne!  You 
out  upon  such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  such  a  night  as  this,  I  come  to  you," 
falters  the  young  lady. 

"  Ah,  yes !  But  how  could  your  mother  let  you  take 
such  a  risk,  and  you  just  widowed?  " 

"  My  mother?  You  know  my  mother  has  been  dead 
over  a  year." 

4<  I  mean  your  husband's  mother.  Of  course  she  acts 
as  your  mother  now  ?  " 

At  this  the  girl's  eyes  flash,  as  she  stifles  a  bitter  jeer 
by  murmuring :  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  my  mother-in- 
law  !  I  had  forgotten  her.  In  the  political  excitement 
of  this  awful  day  it  is  necessary  that  I  get  away  from 
France.  I  fear  the  horrible  scenes  of  the  Terror  will 
again  take  place  in  Paris.  For  this  purpose,  dear  Mon- 
sieur Perrier,  I  need  money." 

"  And  the  rest  of  your  family,  where  are  they,  my 
child?"  queries  the  banker. 

"  The  rest  of  my  family  need  money  also !  "  cries 
Adrienne,  desperately,  accepting  his  suggestion.  "  My 
mother-in-law,  Madame  de  Portalis,  even  she  of  the 
adamantine  commercial  brain,  is  frightened.  Her  son, 
my  late  husband,  the  Baron  Rayon  de  Portalis,  received 
his  title  from  the  King  they  are  now  about  to  assault." 

"  Yes,  yes.  Of  course  I  know  your  family  history 
even  better  than  you  do,  my  child.  Haven't  I  been  the 
banker  of  your  family  for  thirty  years?  I  am  per- 
fectly aware  that  your  husband  was  ennobled  on  ac- 
count of  his  discoveries  in  regard  to  the  manufacture 
of  pottery.  You  have  driven  in  this  night  from  your 
home  at  Sevres  ?  " 

"  Yes,  taking  the  chance  of  receiving  a  bullet.    A 


18  ADRIENNE   DE   PORtALlS. 

woman  died  by  my  side !  She  had  been  wounded  in 
the  Boulevard  des  Capucines." 

"  Yes,  I  have  just  heard  of  that  awful  massacre," 
murmurs  the  man  of  finance.  "  To-morrow  there  will 
be  more  cruel  scenes  in  the  streets  here.  "Man  Dieu, 
if  the  rule  of  the  Jacobins  should  come  again!  Yes, 
it  is  best  that  you  leave  this  disturbed  country  for  the 
present." 

"  For  that  purpose  I  am  here  to  obtain  from  you  a 
small  sum  of  money." 

"  How  much  do  you  wish?  " 

"  Only  sufficient  to  support  us  for  a  short  time  in  a 
foreign  country,  until  this  trouble  passes,  or  until  we 
find  means  to  make  our  bread  in  another  land." 

"  Will  fifteen  thousand  francs  be  enough?  " 

"Oh,  too  much!" 

"  My  dear,  you  will  find  you  can  not  have  too  much 
money.  This  sum  I  will  advance  you  on  your  written 
acknowledgment.  Of  course,  your  settlements  under 
your  marriage  contracts  would  secure  me  for  an  im- 
mensely larger  sum.  By  the  bye,  has  your  husband's 
will  been  proved,  my  child  ?  " 

At  this  the  young  lady's  face  grows  deathly  pale ;  she 
trembles  in  every  limb. 

Noting  her  agitation  he  goes  on  in  hurried  apology : 
"  Pardon  me.  I  don't  wish  to  revive  the  memory  of 
your  bereavement." 

But  she  answers  him :  "  My  husband's  will  has  not 
been  proved ;"  then  cries  suddenly :  "  I  have  better 
security  to  offer  you  than  my  word — these  trinkets ! 
No,  no,  don't  refuse  them !  "  for  Emile  Perrier  has 
made  a  dissenting  gesture.  "  My  property  might  be 
confiscated." 

"  Yes,  we  do  not  know  what  may  happen  in  a  revo- 
lution in  France,"  murmurs  the  banker. 

"  Therefore,  I  have  brought  you  a  few  of  my  jewels," 
interjects  the  young  lady.  "  I  could  not  have  you  lose 
a  sou  for  being  my  friend." 

As  she  speaks  Adrienne  eagerly  produces  from  the 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  tg 

pocket  of  her  dress  a  diamond  necklace,  a  few  hand- 
some rings  and  two  bracelets,  whose  precious  stones 
glitter  in  the  subdued  lamplight. 

"  I  can  not  receive  these ;  "  again  dissents  the  banker. 
"  These  were  your  wedding  presents  from  your  dead 
mother." 

"  How  could  they  be  better  used  than  in  saving  the 
daughter's  life?  I  beg  you  keep  them;  they  will  be 
safer  in  your  hands  than  in  mine.  Perhaps  in  some 
happier  day  I  may  redeem  them." 

"  Well,  as  you  please,"  says  the  old  man,  who, 
though  he  has  a  generous  heart,  has  also  a  business 
brain. 

Taking  the  baubles  in  his  hands,  he  carefully  inven- 
tories them,  arid  remarks :  "  I  will  bring  you  the 
money,"  but  even  at  the  door  of  the  apartment  pauses, 
and  brings  consternation  upon  the  girl,  as  he  queries  : 
"  Your  family  are  going  with  you  ?  " 

"  My  family  ?  Oh — ah,  yes — of  course !  "  she  stam- 
mers. 

"  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  have  a  passport.  I 
will  send  for  one  for  you." 

"  No,  no !  "  cries  Adrienne,  desperately.  "  They 
might  be  watching." 

"Watching— who?" 

"  The  agents  of  the — the  rabble." 

"  I  hardly  think  so  yet.    The  King  has  not  fled." 

"  Still  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  have  a  passport," 
gasps  the  young  widow. 

"  Without  one,  you  could  not  travel  in  a  public  con- 
veyance a  league." 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that.  I — I  have  a  pass- 
port under  a  false  name,"  she  falters. 

"  Sapristi,  a  false  passport  ? "  gasps  the  astounded 
banker. 

"  Yes.  Adele  Eulalie  Pich — Pichoir.  You  see  it  is 
hard  for  me  to  remember  my  new  cognomen.  I  am 
registered  as  a  poor  woman,  traveling  to  join  my  hus- 
band in  Italy." 


20  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  Grand  Dieu!"  murmurs  the  man  of  finance,  rolling 
his  old  eyes.  "  What  a  bright  child  you  have  become." 

"  Yes,  misery  and  terror  have  made  me  precocious," 
returns  the  girl,  who,  all  the  time,  is  muttering  to  herself 
in  a  childish  way  :  "  Holy  Virgin,  forgive  my  lies !  " 

"  Then  the  passport  matter  being  settled,"  remarks 
Emile  Perrier,  "  I  will  lock  these  up  in  my  safe,  and  get 
you  the  money." 

With  the  jewels  in  his  hand  he  leaves  the  apartment, 
and  Adrienne,  sinking  down  on  the  sofa,  a  strange  light 
flames  in  her  childish  eyes,  she  mutters  to  herself :  "  Ac- 
cursed be  they  who  bring  despair  upon  me!  Their 
atrocious  accusations  drive  me  to  it !  "  Then  sighs : 
"  Heaven  will  forgive  the  deceit  of  a  poor,  hunted,  des- 
perate creature  like  me !  " 

With  this,  taking  the  passport  from  the  portemon- 
naie,  she  reads  it  again  very  carefully,  committing  to 
memory  the  name  and  the  statements  in  it.  "  This  is 
God's  gift  to  me,"  she  thinks.  "  I  am  robbing  no  one ; 
she  is  dead !  " 

A  moment  later  the  banker  returns,  bringing  in  his 
hands  fourteen  billets  de  banque,  each  of  the  denomina- 
tion of  a  thousand  francs.  "  Keep  these  on  your  per- 
son, my  child,"  he  suggests ;  then  hands  to  her  a  num- 
ber of  smaller  notes  and  some  gold  and  silver.  "  This  is 
the  remainder  of  the  money ;  to  change  the  larger  bills 
while  traveling  might  be  dangerous." 

"  Yes,  yes,  thank  youv  I  understand,"  says  the  young 
widow,  rising  to  go. 

But  he  intercepts  her,  commanding :  "  Not  out  of 
my  house  to-night,  my  poor  child." 

"  I  must  leave  at  once  in  order  to  go  to-morrow," 
she  mutters,  desperately.  "  I — I  have  certain  prepara- 
tions to  make  that  are  necessary,  dear  Monsieur  Perrier. 
But  you  can  do  me  a  favor.  There  is  a  trunk  of  my 
clothes  my  mother  left  with  you  upon  my  marriage. 
Could  you  not  kindly  have  them  send  it  to  my  waiting 
carriage  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  21 

"  Then  please  do  so  at  once." 

Noting  the  anxiety  in  his  client's  eyes,  the  banker  re- 
tires to  give  the  necessary  orders,  while  Adrienne  hur- 
riedly replaces  her  hat,  that,  in  the  excitement  of  the  in- 
terview, has  fallen  from  her  fair  head. 

A  moment  later  Emile  Perrier,  returning,  remarks : 
"  The  trunk  will  be  upon  your  coach  very  shortly.  Still, 
I  think  your  old  clothes  will  be  of  little  use  to  you ;  they 
are  not  the  garments  of  mourning,"  adding  deprecat- 
ingly :  "  But  you  are  so  young.  You  will  wed  again. 
You  will  forget." 

"  Wed  again  ?  Never !  "  and  dashing  the  tears  from 
her  brown  eyes,  the  widow  sweeps  to  the  door,  a  strange 
shuddering  protest  in  her  graceful  carriage. 

"  You  will  at  least  take  some  refreshment  before  you 
leave  ?  "  suggests  Emile.  "  You  look  worn  out,  ma 
pauvre  petite." 

"  No,  no.  I  dare  not  stay.  God  bless  you  dear  Mon- 
sieur Perrier !  "  And  in  childish  gratitude  Adrienne 
kisses  the  hand  of  the  astounded  banker,  and  runs  out 
of  his  house. 

On  the  sidewalk,  she  says  hurriedly  to  the  hackman, 
who  has  been  anxiously  awaiting  her :  "  Here's  the 
money  I  promised  you.  Please  do  a  little  more  for  me." 

"  Diable,  I  will  drive  my  horses  to  death !  "  answers 
the  cocker  cheerily,  and  kisses  the  five  hundred  franc 
bill  with  great  smacking  lips. 

"  Then  you  must  take  me  back  to  the  Rue  Joubert." 

"  Nom  de  Dieu !  To  the  dead  woman's  ?  " 

"  Yes.    You — you  won't  betray  me?" 

"  To  betray  you  now  would  be  to  put  my  own  wrists 
in  the  handcuffs,"  mutters  the  man.  "  Besides,  you 
pay  good  money." 

So  Adrienne  again  passes  through  Paris  in  a  ferment. 
Even  at  this  time  of  night  the  streets  are  full  of  ex- 
cited men  and  shouting  boys ;  patrols  of  the  National 
Guard  march  hurriedly  about,  apparently,  in  an  aimless 
manner,  fraternizing  with  the  mob.  The  police  seem 


22  ADRIENNt    DE  PORTALIS. 

to  have  disappeared,  even  from  the  main  boulevards; 
the  theaters  are  dark,  the  girl  noting  in  the  Montmartre 
that  the  Varietes  has  " Relache  "  posted  upon  its  portals. 

At  No.  45  Rue  Joubert,  to  her  relief,  the  fugitive 
finds  la  concierge  is  still  in  the  drunken  insensibility  of 
her  debauch. 

"  You  must  wait  for  me,"  she  whispers  to  the  hack- 
man,  as  she  takes  the  key  from  the  wall. 

" D table!  The  woman's  room?  You  are  not  afraid 
of  the  dead?" 

"  No,  it  is  the  living  that  I  fear,"  answers  the  young 
widow,  though  her  hands  tremble  nervously,  as  her 
light  form  disappears  up  the  narrow  stairs. 

Ten  minutes  after,  the  hackman,  dozing  on  his  box, 
cries  angrily :  "  Who  the  deuce  are  you,  trying  to  get 
into  my  carriage?"  and  jumps  into  the  street.  Here 
he  gasps  astonished  :  "  Diable,  little  one !  You  are  no 
more  the  aristocrate.  You  are — now  de  Dieu! — in  the 
clothes  of  the  dead  one." 

"  Yes,  it  is  safer  for  me,"  whispers  Adrienne.  Then 
her  fragile  figure  sways ;  she  places  her  little  hand  on 
the  wheel  of  the  coupe  to  support  herself. 

"  Morbleu,  you  are  fainting !  "  The  man  lifts  her 
light  form  quite  tenderly,  and  places  the  girl  upon  the 
seat  of  the  carriage. 

Here,  as  he  holds  the  door  open,  the  moon  shines 
upon  her  pale,  childish  face.  The  street  is  deserted, 
though  the  low  murmur  of  the  excited  populace  upon 
the  great  boulevards  comes  faintly  to  them,  and  the  two 
hold  converse.  Adrienne,  half  reclining,  falters  :  "  It — 
it  was  more  trying  than  I  expected.  Her  dead  face 
seemed  to  look  upon  me  as  I  robed  myself  in  her  gar- 
ments." But,  after  a  moment,  recovering  herself,  she 
goes  on,  an  anxious  tremor  in  her  sweet  voice :  "  Now 
I  must  ask  your  advice.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  being 
a  fugitive.  I  wouldn't  know  how  to  evade  the  police." 

"  You  are  a  criminal  ?  " 

"  No,  no.    Falsely  accused !  " 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  2$ 

"  del!  It  is  lucky  for  you  there  is  a  revolution  in 
Paris  to-night.  Had  it  been  even  yesterday  they  would 
have  had  your  little  white  thumbs  tied  together  by  this 
time.  But  now  the  Bureau  de  Surete  is  topsy  turvey. 
Its  accursed  officers  tremble  for  themselves  in  the  Rue 
de  Jerusalem.  Even  old  Vidocq  is  shivering,  fearing 
the  guillotine  may  hack  off  his  well-hated  neck  and  his 
sly  old  head  fall  into  the  basket.  Everyone  remembers 
the  good  old  Jacobin  days  of  '93.  That  gives  you  your 
chance." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cries  the  girl,  who  in  her  childish  ignorance 
of  the  world  dares  things  a  more  mature  mind  would 
deem  impossible — escape  from  the  most  perfect  bureau 
of  information  and  accurate  certainty  of  pursuit  the 
world  has  ever  known.  "  Tell  me  how  to  dupe  them  ; 
liow  I  can  leave  Paris." 

"  Leave  Paris?  Diable,  you  must  have  a  passport!  " 

"  Already  obtained." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  A  true  one?  "  gasps  the  man,  opening 
his  eyes  very  wide. 

"  No  a  false  one." 

"  To  go  which  way  ?  " 

"  South.  The  railway  to  Lyons  has  not  been  yet 
opened.*  I  must  take  the  diligence." 

"  Sapristi!  At  the  office  of  the  diligence  they  will  be 
awaiting  you  and  will  surely  nab  you,  my  little  one," 
remarks  the  hack  driver.  Then  passing  his  hand 
through  his  unkempt  hair,  after  a  moment  he  suggests : 
"  Git  out  as  if  you  were  going  to  the  suburbs ;  then  take 
a  side  road,  and  catch  the  diligence  outside  of  town." 
A  moment  later  he  mutters :  "  I  have  the  trick.  Take 
the  steamboat  to  Montereau.  You  have  the  money  ?  " 

"  Plenty." 

"  That's  good.  But  you  need  not  fear.  I  am  not 
avaricious.  I  will  only  charge  you  another  hundred 
francs.  I  will  drive  you  to-morrow  down  to  the  Quai 
de  la  Greve ;  at  the  office,  No.  60,  you  will  take  a  ticket 


*  The  railway  to  Lyons  and  Marseilles  vas  not  opened  even  as  tax  as 
Qhalons  till  1849.— Elo, 


24  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

for  Montereau.  We'll  get  there  when  the  populace  are 
storming  the  Tuileries.  The  clerks  will  be  thinking 
more  of  stray  cannon  balls  than  their  business.  They 
won't  pay  much  attention  to  your  passport.  From 
Montereau  you  take  a  private  coach  to  Troyes;  then 
mount  the  diligence  for  Lyons,  and  there  you  are !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  God  bless  you !  "  excitedly  cries  Adrienne, 
clapping  her  hands  almost  childishly,  though  a  moment 
after  her  voice  grows  faint  as  she  murmurs :  "  Now, 
you  must  take  me  where  I  can  get  something  to  eat. 
I've — I've  had  nothing  since  morning.  Besides,  I  must 
have  some  place  to  sleep.  I — I  am  so  tired." 

"  You  may  trust  me  for  that  Madamoiselle.  I  know 
the  very  place !  Old  Mother  Grenouile  will  give  you  a 
meal  and  a  clean  bed,  and  ask  no  questions.  She  takes 
care  of  such  stray  police  chickens  as  you  quite  often. 
Parbleu,  but  you  were  lucky  when  you  picked  me  up 
after  your  carriage  had  broken  down  on  the  Passy  road. 
I  am  the  one  cocker  in  a  hundred  who  would  not  have 
robbed  you  of  your  money,  and  then  turned  you  over  to 
the  police.  But  do  not  be  afraid.  I  will  charge  you 
only  two  hundred  francs  for  all  I  am  doing  for  you." 

"  Yes !  God  bless  you  again !  "  says  the  girl,  piteously. 

"  By  the  bye !  What  am  I  to  call  you  to  Mother 
Grenouile  ?  " 

"  Adele  Pich — I  forget  the  name — Adele  Pichoir, 
that's  it — Adele  Pichoir,  seamstress." 

"  Then  petite,"  laughs  the  maij,  "  you  had  better  put 
out  of  sight  that  little  watch  with  the  coronet  upon  it. 
Ah !  Now  we  are  more  in  form.  You  are  married,  I 
can  see  by  the  gold  ring  on  your  finger  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  journeying  to  meet  my  husband  in  Italy." 

"  Diable,  you  have  been  studying  your  passport," 
chuckles  the  fellow.  "  Now,  we'll  make  you  as  safe  for 
the  night  as  if  Monsieur  Vidocq  had  you  and  you  were 
locked  up  in  La  Conciergerie."  At  this  hideous 
pleasantry,  the  fugitive  shivers. 

He  is  turning  to  mount  his  hack,  when  a  little  hand 
it  laid  in  piteous  entreaty  upon  his  arm4  a  fair  facex 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  25 

strangely  beautiful  in  the  moonlight,  looks  into  his,  and 
a  soft  voice  petitions :  "  For  the  love  of  God,  Monsieur, 
remember  you  are  a  man,  and  do  not  betray  a  helpless, 
despairing  woman." 

"  Diable!  Do  not  doubt  me,  little  one,"  answers  the 
cocker.  "  I  am  the  most  honest  hackman  in  Paris !  " 

And  the  fellow  means  it,  as  he  whips  up  his  tired 
horses  and  drives  briskly  into  one  of  the  out-of-the- 
way  quarters  of  Paris,  whose  populace  is  now  sharpen- 
ing sword  and  cleaning  pistol  and  musket  and  piling 
cobblestones  to  dethrone  its  King. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  MONTEREAU  BOAT. 

It  is  the  next  day — that  fateful  twenty-fourth  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1848.  Paris  is^a  living  hell.  The  crowds  are 
storming  the  Tuileries.  The  citizen  king  is  flying  from 
his  citizens.  The  musketry  is  rolling  heavily  from  the 
few  troops  who  still  hold  firm  about  the  palace.  One 
solid,  howling,  yelling,  shouting  Parisian  mob,  is 
jammed  into  the  Place  de  Carrousel,  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries  and  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  which  at  this  time 
ends  at  the  Louvre.  The  quays,  however,  along  the 
river  bank,  are  not  as  thickly  crowded,  there  being  a 
report  that  a  battery  is  placed  ready  to  enfilade  them 
with  its  fire. 

Upon  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  apparently  wait- 
ing for  some  one  or  something,  stands  a  young  man,  of 
fine  figure,  and  dark,  serious  eyes  that  are  now  flash- 
ing, not  only  with  excitement,  but  resolution.  His 
manner  has  a  curious,  precise  dignity  for  one  so  young, 
as  if  he  were  accustomed  to  command  anything  from 
a  regiment  of  cavalry  to  a  class  of  schoolgirls. 

He  stands  gazing  upon  the  crowded  Place  de  la 
Greve,  an  eager  expectancy  making  his  lips  quiver 


26  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

slightly  under  a  long,  well-waxed,  dark  mustache, 
which  has  a  military,  almost  theatrical  twirl,  to  its 
ends.  Costumed  for  traveling,  his  high-booted  foot  is 
beating  an  impatient  tattoo  on  the  stone  step  upon  which 
he  stands.  Once  or  twice,  as  the  roll  of  musketry  comes 
to  him  from  the  direction  of  the  scene  of  tumult,  he 
strikes  his  hands  nervously  together,  and  mutters: 
"  Will  Cremieux  never  come  ?  Gran  Dio !  Louis 
Philippe  dethroned,  the  Austrians  have  one  friend  less, 
Italy  one  chance  more."  Then  he  cries,  cordially : 
"  Thank  God,  you  are  here,  Alphonse !  "  to  a  young 
man  in  the  uniform  of  a  Captain  of  the  National  Guard, 
who,  forcing  his  way  through  the  throng,  stands  be- 
side him.  "  What  is  your  news?  " 

"  We  have  done  it !  "  whispers  the  French  captain. 

"  God  be  praised !    You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certain,  my  Italian  friend !  There  goes 
the  last  cannon  of  the  heroic  Gerard ;  a  brave  man  de- 
fending a  King  who  runs  away." 

"  Louis  Philippe  has  fled  ?  "  queries  the  other,  as  if  he 
could  scarce  believe. 

"  Sure !  His  carriage  was  seen  to  drive  away  nearly 
an  hour  ago,  and  thank  God,  the  colonel  in  command  of 
the  troops,  through  which  he  passed,  had  the  sense  to 
let  him  fly.  Parbleu,  they  say,  he  is  already  under  an 
assumed  name,  possibly  some  cognomen  of  the  English 
whom  he  loves.  He  is  the  last  King  in  France,  mark 
you  that !  " 

"  Then  I  must  get  on  my  way,  Cremieux,"  whispers 
the  other.  "  This  news  means  an  uprising  in  Italy." 

"  Don't  talk  here !  Mille  diables,  there  may  be  spies 
about,  Da  Messina,"  mutters  the  Frenchman. 

So  the  two  get  to  a  quiet  place  and  hold  converse  to- 
gether. 

"  I  leave  for  Milan  immediately,"  remarks  the  Italian, 
under  his  breath.  "  Giuseppe  Mazzini  will  be  in  Paris 
within  two  days.  Give  him  any  further  news,  but  it 
is  necessary  that  Lombardy  and  Venice  know  at  once 
there  is  no  King,  who  is  a  friend  to  Austria,  in  France," 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTAUS.  27 

"  Yes !  I  see  you  are  ready  to  travel."  And  young 
Cremieux  glances  at  a  valise  the  Italian  carries  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  have  been  ready  to  depart  for  three  weeks.  You 
know  I  have  been  waiting  here  over  two  months.  I  can 
trust  you,  my  dear  Alphonse,  because  no  man  in  Paris 
has  been  a  truer  friend  to  me.  You  will  present  my 
compliments  to  your  great  relative  ?  " 

"  Ma  foi,  my  great  relative  is  even  now  taking  part 
in  the  provisional  government  in  the  Chamber  of  Depu- 
ties," replies  the  other  with  French  vivacity.  "  Sauzet, 
when  he  rose  in  the  Chamber  to  assume  the  office  of 
President,  said :  '  I  call  the  Deputies  to  order.'  And 
a  sans-culotte,  covering  him  with  a  big  musket  cried : 
'  The  Republic  calls  upon  you  to  resign.'  '  I  resign ! ' 
screamed  Sauzet,  and  fled  through  a  trapdoor  in  the 
rostrum  which  he  had  prepared  to  the  catacombs  of 
underground  Paris.  Perhaps  he  is  even  now  crawling 
through  a  sewer  beneath  our  feet !  "  At  this  the  two 
burst  out  laughing  merrily. 

-  A  moment  later  the  Italian  speaks  hurriedly  and  se- 
riously : 

"  This  thing  that  I  have  waited  for  having  come 
to  pass,  I  must  return  at  once  to  Milan." 

"You  have  a  passport?" 

"  Of  course !  But  not  a  French  passport.  One  is- 
sued by  the  Austrian  government  in  my  native  city, 
permitting  me,  the  Cavaliere,  Carlo  Tomasso  da  Mes- 
sina, teacher  of  music,  to  take  journey  to  Paris,  and 
return  with  an  apprenticed  pupil,  one  Estelle  Gabrielle 
Chartres,  aged  sixteen,  who  is  to  be  prepared  by  me 
for  the  stage  of  the  Opera — that  is  the  trouble !  " 

"What  is  the  trouble?" 

"  My  pupil,  the  girl  I  was  to  take  with  me,  to  be 
placed  under  my  direction  at  the  school  of  my  aunt  in 
Milan!  These  political  commotions  have  frightened 
the  child's  parents,  who,  though  poor  as  church  mice 
for  some  time,  hesitated  to  place  their  daughter  under 
the  stern  rule  of  Italian  padroneship.  Even  with  the 


28  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

papers  already  drawn  up,  they  now  refuse  to  let  Estelle 
travel  to  Italy,  where  we  will  have  much  more  deadly 
work  than  has  been  necessary  here."  He  points  almost 
sneeringly  toward  the  Tuileries.  "  So  I  am  without  a 
pupil.  Now,  the  bringing  of  this  girl  to  Milan  was  the 
sole  apparent  object  of  my  visit  to  Paris.  To  return 
without  my  apprentice  will  add  to  the  suspicions  which 
the  Austrian  government  already  have  of  me." 

"  Mille  tonnerres!  you  were  not  very  wise,  my  friend. 
Why  did  you  not  state  to  the  Milan  authorities  that  you 
had  an  engagement  at  the  Paris  Opera,  my  tenor  ?  That 
would  have  been  more  astute  than  the  excuse  of  the 
girl,"  remarks  Alphonse.  ,, 

"  That  was  impossible,"  answers  the  other.  "  The 
Opera  House  of  Paris  is  very  close,  artistically,  to  La 
Scala,  Milan.  My  contract  would  have  to  have  been  a 
genuine  one,  and,  as  is  usual,  for  a  stated  period.  Then 
I  could  not  have  left  on  the  moment,  as  I  do  now.  Be- 
sides, I  was  assured  Mademoiselle  Chartres  would  be 
regularly  apprenticed  to  me  here,  and  leave  with  me  at 
my  command." 

"Parbleu!"  laughs  the  young  Frenchman.  "Why 
not  take  Julie,  or  Cora,  or  Mimi  ?  La  belle  Mimi  is  quite 
enamored  of  you.  She'd  masquerade  as  a  girl  of  six- 
teen ;  she  would  travel  to  Italy  with  you,  and  enjoy  the 
role.  Diable!  I  see  la  petite  Mimi  donning  short  schoolj 
girl  skirts  and  playing  your  pupil  of  sixteen,  with  that 
arch,  childlike  grace,  that  devilish  innocence  that  makes 
the  bald  heads  in  the  fauteuils  d'orchestre  at  the  Palais 
Royal  chuckle  till  their  old  hearts  throb  as  if  they  were 
boys  again." 

"Peste!"  interjects  Da  Messina.  "The  liberty 
of  my  country  is  too  solemn  to  be  sullied  by  an 
amour  with  a  soubrette.  And  yet,  I  must  go  to- 
day !  "  The  determination  in  his  voice  is  tinged  with 
anxiety,  though  not  conquered  by  it.  "  Every  minute 
is  important  now.  Within  a  month  we  will  answer 
your  guns  in  free  Paris  by  our  musketry  in  free  Milan ; 
remember  that !  And  yet,  without  the  girl,  I  know  not 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  2$ 

how  to  make  my  return  to  Italy  look  plausible.  How- 
ever," the  confidence  of  youth  lighting  his  expressive 
face,  "  trust  me  to  pull  the  wool  over  the  eyes  of  the 
Austrian  officials  on  the  Lombardian  frontier  in  some 
way." 

"  Remember,"  says  Cremieux,  warningly,  "  that 
we  have  word  here — at  least  so  Monsieur  Barrot  in- 
formed me  only  last  night — that  there  are  several  Aus- 
trian spies  now  in  Paris,  seeing  how  this  affair  will  turn 
out.  One  or  two  of  them  are  ladies ;  perhaps  especially 
picked  out,  knowing  your  predilection  for  the  fair  sex, 
my  dear  Cavaliere  da  Messina !  " 

"  Basta!  Ii,  matters  of  politics,  women  are  no  more 
to  me  than  chessmen  are  to  the  player,"  mutters  the 
other,  adding,  coolly :  "  For  my  country,  I  would  wring 
the  neck  of  Madame  Spy  as  quickly  as  I  would  cut  the 
throat  of  Monsieur  Mouchard!" 

"  Ah,  yes !  You  have  the  old  principles  of  the  Car- 
bonari," smiles  the  Frenchman. 

"  No,  only  the  aspirations  of  '  Young  Italy.'  We  are 
all  ready  to  move,  I  tell  you,  Cremieux.  Charles  Albert 
has  fifty  thousand  men  on  the  Piedmont  frontier  to  aid 
us ;  Garibaldi  is  raising  a  group  of  free  Italians  in 
Naples ;  Venice,  under  Manin,  is  ready  to  rise,  and  my 
beloved  Milan  will  not  be  far  behind  her." 

"  Then  you  are  going  ? "  queries  Alphonse,  for  the 
other  is  already  moving  toward  the  river  front. 

"Yes!" 

"  By  the  diligence  to  Lyons  ?  " 

"  No.  I  take  no  diligence  from  Paris.  Though  a 
young  man,  I  am  too  old  a  conspirator  for  that.  My 
movements  were  arranged  for  me  by  your  great  rela- 
tive, a  man  with  a  long  head.  He  said :  '  Take  the  boat 
as  far  as  Montereau,  my  dear  Da  Messina.  They  will 
not  be  thinking  to-day  of  tourists  doing  the  upper  Seine. 
There  I  engage  a  private  chaise  and  post  to  Troyes. 
From  that  point,  of  course,  the  diligence  to  Lyons ;  but 
I  don't  imagine  any  lady  spy  will  think  I  journey  that 
rather  roundabout  way  to  Marseilles  and  Genoa." 


3O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  So  there  will  be  no  more  petits  soupers  with  you 
at  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  or  our  little  dinners  de  quartre, 
two  ladies  and  two  gentlemen,  at  Very's.  Diable,  I 
shall  miss  your  beautiful  voice,  but  your  company  much 
more,  my  dear  Chevalier!  La  petite  Mimi  will  be  in- 
consolable," prattles  the  young  Frenchman,  vivaciously, 
though  the  musketry  is  still  rolling  about  the  Tuileries. 

"  Yes,"  answers  the  other,  solemnly.  "  No  man  thor- 
oughly appreciates  Paris  till  he  is  leaving  it.  There's  no 
city  like  it  on  this  earth !  "  He  sighs  slightly,  perchance 
thinking  of  la  belle  Mimi,  who^is  as  piquant  a  sou- 
brette  as  ever  looked  undying  love  at  a  man  and  didn't 
mean  it.  "  Shall  I  say  good-by,  now,  my  dear  Al- 
phonse?"  They  are  at  the  Ouai  de  Greve — the  young 
Italian  holds  out  his  hand  affectionately. 

"  No,  not  yet !    I  will  bid  you  adieu  at  the  boat." 

With  this  they  take  their  way  rapidly  to  the  quay  be- 
low the  bridge  Louise  Philippe,  where  one  of  the  little 
steamers  running  to  Montereau  is  tied  up.  Her  funnel 
is  belching  black  smoke.  She,  apparently,  is  ready  to 
depart.  One  or  two  of  the  deckhands  are  waving  the 
passengers,  who  are  not  very  numerous,  across  her 
gangplank. 

"  Quick !  You  have  just  time  to  get  your  ticket,  Da 
Messina,"  cries  Cremieux,  and  the  two  young  men  run 
hastily  to  the  office  of  the  steamboat  company,  where 
the  excited  clerks,  urged  to  a  Gallic  madness  by  the 
tumult  that  comes  faintly  to  their  ears  from  further 
down  the  Seine,  pay  very  little  attention  to  the  exami- 
nation of  passports. 

One  is  just  taking  some  money  from  a  woman  garbed 
quite  humbly  in  a  plain,  brown  dress,  and  crying: 
"Ticket  for  Madame  Pichoir;  passport  examined!" 
He  scarce  looks  at  the  latter  document,  for  at  this  time 
a  shout  comes  from  a  lounger  outside:  "  Mon  Dieu! 
Cannon  are  coming  upon  the  Ouai  near  the  Palace !  " 

"  Tell  the  Captain  to  get  under  way  at  once.  I  am 
going  to  Montereau  with  him !  "  screams  the  manager 
of  the  office,  running  out.  "  But  you  clerks  stay  here 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  31 

and  attend  to  business;  the  next  boat  will  be 
crowded !  "  he  adds  sternly  to  his  attaches,  who  would 
follow  him. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement  Da  Messina  comes 
out  of  the  office  with  his  ticket  in  his  hand,  Cremieux 
walking  hastily  beside  him.  As  they  run  down  to  the 
little  steamboat,  the  latter  remarks,  half  jestingly :  "  See, 
my  Carlo,  in  front  of  you  the  female  spy." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  the  other,  in  hurried 
suspicion. 

"  Why,  that  young  lady  in  advance  of  us." 

"  That  young  lady?  " 

"  Yes.  She  who  wears  the  garments  of  a  work- 
woman with  the  grace  of  an  aristocrat.  I  caught  her 
face  under  her  big  bonnet ;  it  is  that  of  as  pretty  a  girl 
as  I  have  ever  looked  at ;  not  over  eighteen.  I  read  her 
passport  as  it  lay  open  on  the  counter,  and  it  said  mar- 
ried woman,  twenty-five.  Diable,  look  at  that  high- 
bred foot;  it's  not  shod  in  philosophes  at  fifty  sous  a 
pair,  I  can  tell  you.  Those  high  heels  came  from  a 
Jordan  or  a  Ferry,  and  cost  a  couple  of  louis  at  least. 
Sapristi,  Mademoiselle  may  be  some  princess  in  dis- 
guise," laughs  the  Frenchman.  "  Anyway,  she  is 
worth  investigating,  Da  Messina,  either  from  the  stand- 
point of  politics  or  the  tender  passion." 

"  Cielo! "  whispers  the  Italian.  "  I  believe  she  really 
is  a  spy.  See  how  she  shrinks  from  observation;  note 
that  her  dress  is  much  too  large  for  her  slight  waist. 
Cospetto,  how  familiarly  that  hackman,  carrying  her 
trunk,  chuckles  to  her  as  she  steps  upon  the  boat." 

"  Oho !  "  interjects  Alphonse,  "  I  know  the  fellow." 
A  moment  later,  he  whispers  :  "  Listen !  The  hackman 
has  just  mentioned  Mother  Grenouile  to  the  girl." 

"  Mother  Grenouile !  Who  is  she  ?  "  asks  Carlo,  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Come  this  way,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  for  the  two 
are  now  upon  the  gangplank,  across  which  the  last  pas- 
sengers are  crowding,  a  booming  cannon  down  the  river 
adding  to  their  haste. 


32  ABRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

On  the  deck  of  the  t>oat,  drawing  his  friend  as  far  as 
possible  from  other  people's  ears,  Cremieux  whispers 
warningly :  "  Camille  Grenouile  is  well  known  to  most 
boulevardiers  as  a  woman  who  keeps  a  lodging  house 
in  which  people  under  a  cloud  take  refuge.  The  sus- 
pects of  the  police;  ladies  of  shady  reputations  of  all 
kinds  are  her  lodgers.  Beware,  my  dear  Da  Messina, 
of  any  woman  who  knows  Mere  Grenouile !  Our  sus- 
pect is  certainly  not  couleur  blanche.  Camille's  is  the 
very  house  a  female  spy  of  the  Austrian  government 
might  lodge  in." 

"  Thanks  for  your  warning,  my  dear  Alphonse.  Were 
I  impeded  in  my  journey  to  Milan  it  would  be  a  blow 
to  our  cause,"  whispers  the  Italian,  casting  a  wary  eye 
upon  the  shrinking  form  of  Adrienne  de  Portalis,  who, 
clothed  as  the  seamstress  Adele  Pichoir,  is  trying 
most  anxiously  to  avoid  the  eyes  of  a  little  gendarme, 
who  in  full  uniform,  has  just  stepped  upon  the  deck. 

"  Good-by,  old  fellow !  Pray  God  that  you  may  re- 
turn to  us  soon  from  Italy  alive,"  ejaculates  Cremieux, 
for  tne  cry  is  "All  ashore !  " 

The  two  young  men  embrace  heartily.  The  French- 
man tears  himself  away,  and  springs  rapidly  to  the 
quai,  as  the  steamer's  gangplank  is  taken  in,  and  turn- 
ing her  head  up  stream  the  little  vessel  darts  past  the 
Isle  Saint  Louis,  and,  leaving  Charenton  to  her  left, 
breasts  the  current,  paddling  rapidly  toward  the  upper 
reaches  of  the  river. 

Every  revolution  of  the  boat's  wheels  takes  it  farther 
from  the  wild  roar  of  the  mob,  triumphant  now  and 
looting  the  Tuileries  as  they  testify  their  hatred  of  mon- 
archy by  destroying  the  art  treasures  of  half  a  dozen 
centuries. 

Seating  himself  carelessly  near  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
and  lighting  a  cigar,  the  Cavaliere  da  Messina  makes 
a  rather  languidly  romantic  picture,  as  in  the  confidence 
of  youth  he  hums,  most  exquisitely,  a  little  Italian 
ditty,  though  all  the  time  he  gives  a  concealed  yet  earn- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  33 

est  attention  to  the  woman  against  whom  he  has  been 
warned. 

Every  attitude  of  the  shrinking  girl  increases  his  sus- 
picions. "  She  is  certainly  a  consummate  actress,  or 
some  one  journeying  under  very  peculiar  circum- 
stances," he  concludes.  Inspection  makes  the  object  of 
his  distrust  more  interesting  to  him,  as  the  ill-made  robe 
can  not  conceal  a  most  attractive  figure,  and  a  very 
capacious  poke  bonnet  can  not  keep  wholly  from  his 
prying  eyes  a  very  lovely  and  exceedingly  youthful 
face. 

Suddenly,  to  increase  his  misgivings,  the  object  of  his 
inspection  comes  quite  close  to  him,  as  if  she  sought 
his  company. 

This  is  simply  because  the  Cavaliere  da  Messina  ap- 
pears, to  the  girl's  appealing  gaze,  the  most  gentlemanly 
man  on  the  boat,  in  fact,  the  only  one  to  whom  Adri- 
enne,  in  a  moment  of  necessity,  might  turn  for  succor 
from  some  of  the  rude  gang  who  occupy  most  of  the 
deck  of  the  steamer.  These  are  mostly  tradesmen  of 
the  lower  classes,  who  fear  the  flying  bullets  of  revolu- 
tionary Paris;  a  number  of  millers  who  are  returning 
to  their  cornmills  at  Melun  and  Corbiel,  as  well  as  a 
few  farmers  and  red-shirted  butchers  for  Montereau, 
likewise  some  uncouth  shepherds  and  cattle  dealers 
journeying  to  the  Forest  d'Othe.  The  almost  brutal  at- 
tentions of  some  of  these  to  a  woman  of  pretty  face  and 
humble  dress  are  such  as  drive  the  frightened  girl  as 
far  as  possible  from  her  would-be  gallants,  the  bulk  of 
whom  are  at  the  forward  end  of  the  boat.  Consequently 
Adrienne  moves  nearer  to  the  stern,  and  therefore  closer 
to  Carlo  da  Messina,  who  suddenly  has  an  idea  that  the 
pretty  spy,  for  as  such  he  now  almost  regards  her,  de- 
sires to  have  word  with  him  in  order  to  make  her  sur- 
veillance over  him  more  close  and  effective. 

So  he  sits  quietly  smoking,  keeping  one  eye  upon  the 
beautiful  banks  of  the  Seine,  which  become  more  hilly 
and  picturesque  as  they  reach  its  higher  waters,  and  the 
other  upon  the  attractive  object  of  his  suspicions — wait- 


34  ADRIENNE  VE  PORTAL1S. 

ing  for  a  denouement,  which  he  now  confidently  expects 
will  take  place.  But  this  does  not  occur  until  the  jour- 
ney is  nearly  closed.  It  is  already  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  is  growing  toward  dusk.  The  boat  has  passed 
Corbiel,  Melun,  and  Fontainebleau,  and  is  nearing  her 
destination,  the  little  town  of  Montereau,  when  Signor 
da  Messina  gives  a  start. 

A  sweet  voice  is  whispering,  almost  in  his  ear :  "  Oh, 
Monsieur!  I  beg  your  protection  when  we  land;  that 
you  will  conduct  me  to  the  inn.  I  am  alone  and  un- 
protected. You  are  the  only  one  whose  bearing  and 
appearance  permits  me  to  petition.  I  will  only  trouble 
you  till  we  reach  the  inn." 

With  a  slight  start,  Carlo,  turning,  sees  a  pair  of 
beautiful,  anxious,  brown  eyes,  and  hears  a  voice  of 
wonderful  sweetness  and  exquisite  timbre  making  ap- 
peal to  a  heart,  that  is  now  a  very  hard  one  toward  this 
young  lady,  and  a  mind  that  is  decidedly  distrustful, 
even  of  her  beauty  and  her  graces.  For  the  Cavaliere 
is  thinking  to  himself:  "Curse  the  little  cunning 
intrigante!  With  the  art  of  a  thorough  police  spy,  she 
is  making  the  only  appeal  to  me  that,  as  a  gentleman, 
I  can  not  refuse."  He  has  just  noticed  that  the  little 
gendarme  has  passed  a  few  words  with  the  lovely  pe- 
titioner. As  a  matter  of  fact,  Adrienne's  appeal  is 
owing  to  the  amorous  arts  of  this  dapper  little  police- 
man, who,  strutting  about  in  his  gorgeous  uniform,  has 
sought  to  make  a  conquest  of  the  retiring  girl,  the  few 
marketwomen  on  board  not  being  considered  worthy 
subjects  for  his  gallantry.  This  official,  after  many 
ogles,  some  sighs,  and  a  good  deal  of  bombast,  having 
noticed  that  Adrienne's  eyes,  when  they  meet  his,  shrink 
from  his  impudent  glances,  thinks  he  has  made  a  con- 
quest. Therefore,  the  boat  being  near  its  destination, 
he  struts  up  to  the  trembling  young  lady  and  addresses 
her  in  these  horrifying  words :  "  Remember,  Made- 
moiselle, when  we  reach  Montereau,  on  the  gangplank 
I  shall  take  you  under  my  arm,  as  a  representative  of 
the  Police  of  Paris."  This  audacious  speech  has  given 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  35 

La  Baronne  de  Portalis  an  awful  fright.  For  one  in- 
stant she  thinks  that  her  disguise  has  been  discovered ; 
that  the  ogling  creature  before  her  is  a  myrmidon  of  the 
Bureau  de  Surete.  A  moment  later  his  words  give  her 
mind  a  great  relief — her  modesty  a  fearful  shock.  He 
whispers:  "Corps  de  diable!  I  will  show  you,  my 
pretty  one,  how  we  love  in  Paris." 

Unaccustomed  to  guard  herself  in  public,  having 
always  had  either  the  protection  of  a  mother  or  the  care 
of  a  husband,  and  always  shielded  by  the  surroundings 
of  wealth  and  station,  the  girl  sees  only  one  relief  from 
this  attack,  and  that  is  to  place  herself  under  the  pro- 
tection of  one  who,  though  he  looks  a  man  of  the  world, 
seems  also  to  be  a  gentleman. 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  you  to  the  inn,"  replies  the  cava- 
liere,  shortly,  though  he  lifts  his  hat  ceremoniously. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Monsieur !  It  is  that 
gendarme  that  I  fear." 

"  Humph,  yes !  I  noticed  that  he  was  talking  to  you," 
remarks  Carlo,  pointedly,  and  thinks :  "  When  I  get 
into  my  postchaise  at  Montereau,  Donna  Intrigante, 
though  she  will  doubtless  try  to  follow  me,  will  be  com- 
pelled to  take  her  prying  eyes  off  me  for  a  little  time. 
Diavolo,  but  they  are  very  beautiful  and  pathetic — 
hang  me,  they  look  as  if  they  had  been  crying — for  my 
benefit,  I  suppose.  What  a  consummate  little  actress 
she  is." 

To  avoid  the  temptation  of  her  glance,  he  turns  his 
face  from  her,  and,  the  mood  coming  on  him,  sings  un- 
der his  voice,  his  humor  being  sad,  a  petite  chanson  of 
Beranger's — one  la  belle  Mimi  used  to  warble — the 
echo  of  his  past  amourette  in  Paris. 

As  he  finishes,  he  is  startled  by  the  lady  of  his  fears 
whispering :  "  How — how  beautifully  you  sing,  yet 
how  sadly."  He  notes  the  lovely  eyes  are  again  full  of 
tears. 

"  Yes,  I  am  considered  something  of  a  tenor  in  Italy," 
he  returns,  complacently.  Even  great  artists  have  ail 
appetite  for  com2liments.  But  as  he  speaks  a  savage 


36  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

distrust  flies  into  his  face,  for  this  girl  of  humble 
garb  is  wiping  her  brown  eyes  with  a  kerchief  of  finest 
cambric,  its  corner  broidered  with  a  little  coronet. 

"  Cospetto! "  he  thinks.  "  Even  the  most  cunning  of 
these  lady  mouches  have  some  slight  rent  in  their 
armor  of  deceit." 

Anxious  to  test  her  a  little  farther,  he  carelessly 
makes  a  remark  in  German.  To  his  horror  she  an- 
swers him  with  a  delightful  Viennese  accent,  explaining, 
apparently,  as  an  afterthought,  that  she  studied  the 
language  in  her  convent  school. 

They  have  rounded  the  last  bend  of  the  river — Mon- 
tereau  is  in  sight. 

"  Monsieur,  I — I  remind  you  of  your  promise,"  whis- 
pers the  suspect,  gazing  tremblingly  at  the  gendarme, 
who  has  posted  himself  near  the  gangway. 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Mademoiselle,"  answers  Carlo, 
formally. 

"  Madame,  please !  "  responds  the  girl.  "  I  am  Adele 
Pichoir,  journeying  to  my  husband  in  Italy,  via  Mar- 
seilles." 

"  By  Heavens !  "  thinks  Da  Messina,  with  a  start. 
"  This  female  Vidocq  has  discovered  my  very  route." 

A  moment  after,  the  boat  drawing  up  at  the  landing- 
place,  the  cavaliere  offers  his  arm  with  studied  polite- 
ness to  the  woman  by  his  side,  and  leads  her  across  the 
gangplank,  the  dapper  gendarme  gazing  after  him  and 
cursing  him  under  his  breath,  though  afraid  to  dispute 
the  prize  with  a  stalwart  fellow  who  looks  not  only  able 
to  break  him  in  two  and  throw  him  into  the  river,  but 
also  extremely  cross  and  very  savage. 

For,  though  the  little  white,  clinging  hand  laid  upon 
his  stout  arm  might,  in  its  helpless  appeal,  make  any 
man  feel  very  tender  toward  her,  Carlo  da  Messina  is 
looking  upon  the  lady  he  escorts,  muttering  to  himself, 
a  very  dangerous  gleam  in  his  eye :  "  Beware,  my  little 
Austrian  police  spy !  I  am  warned  of  you.  You  follow 
me  at  your  peril !  " 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  37 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  CURIOUS  NIGHT  RIDE. 

Five  mmtttes'  walk  and  Carlo  da  Messina,  accom- 
panied by  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis,  reaches  the 
C'heval  Blanc,  a  little  inn  which  is  also  the  posthouse 
of  the  town. 

Here,  bowing  courteously,  the  gentleman  says :  "  1 
must  now  leave  you,  Madame,"  and  striding  hastily  out 
of  the  parlor  of  the  auberge,  he  orders  a  postchaise  at 
once  to  take  him  to  Troyes. 

"  Morbleu,  you  are  lucky !  "  answers  the  innkeeper. 
"  You  have  ordered  the  last  in  our  stables.  There  has 
been  quite  a  travel  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have 
to-day  fled  from  Paris,  from  which  they  tell  me  the 
King  has  run  away.  The  next  one  who  orders  a  car- 
riage will  find  he  has  to  remain  over  night." 

"  That  you  have  one  left  is  fortunate,"  replies  the 
cavaliere.  "  I  am  anxious  to  get  on  my  way  as  soon 
as  possible.  So  have  the  horses  put  in  at  once,  and 
serve  a  little  dinner  in  your  dining-room — anything 
will  do — whatever  you  have  cooked,  and  a  bottle  of 
chablis." 

Three  minutes  after  Carlo  sits  down  to  a  meal  very 
hastily  served,  but  finds  himself  made  comfortable  by  a 
cold  chicken,  bread,  butter,  and  cheese,  and  a  bottle  of 
quite  fair  wine. 

Apparently,  the  lady  spy  is  in  a  hurry  also,  for  the 
girl  whom  he  dreads  is  likewise  taking  a  hasty  meal  in 
another  portion  of  the  room,  from  which  she  once  or 
twice  looks  up  at  him  with  a  gratitude  he  thinks  sus- 
picious. A  moment  later,  in  the  courtyard,  as  he  is 
about  to  step  into  his  postchaise,  the  innkeeper  comes 
to  him. 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  taken  a  great  liberty.  A  woman 
is  also  anxious  to  proceed  to  Troyes.  I  have  given  her 
a  seat  in  your  carriage.  She  said  it  was  an  affair  of 


38  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

life  and  death.  I  didn't  think  you  would  object,  as  you 
had  escorted  her  from  the  boat,  and — she  is  very 
pretty !  "  There  is  a  sly  twinkle  in  the  old  aubergiste's 
eye. 

"  The  woman  I  escorted  from  the  boat  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Though  humbly  dressed  she  seems  to  have 
plenty  of  money  to  pay  the  high  post  charges  of  sixty- 
five  miles  to  Troyes;  she  will  divide  the  expense  with 
you." 

"  Plenty  of  money !  "  cogitates  the  Italian  conspira- 
tor. "  Yet  her  passport,  Alphonse  told  me,  was  that  of 
a  seamstress.  She  is  dressed  as  a  workingwoman.  She 
inadvertently  used  a  coronetted  handkerchief.  She 
speaks  South-German.  She  is  surely  an  Austrian 
agent.  Maladetto,  she  will  have  it !  " 

Then  like  a  man  of  determination,  turning  to  the  au- 
bergiste,  he  remarks  in  blandest  tone:  "  Certainly,  inn- 
keeper, place  the  lady  in  the  postchaise.  She  will  be  a 
pleasant  companion  for  the  ride — of  course,  she  shares 
the  expense  with  me  ?  " 

Upon  which  Adrienne,  coming  hurriedly  out,  falters : 
"  Thank  you,  Monsieur,  for  another  favor  to  my  help- 
lessness. Had  it  been  anybody  else  I  would  not  have 
dared  to  trust  myself  with  him  alone  in  a  carriage,  but 
I  can  tell  from  your  face,  Monsieur,  that  the  weakness 
of  a  woman  with  you  adds  to  her  safety." 

"  Diavolo!  What  a  cunning  little  devil  she  is,"  mut- 
ters Carlo  to  himself ;  then  replies,  a  strange  significance 
in  his  voice:  "I  hope  you  will  enjoy  the  journey,"  and 
assists  the  young  lady  with  formal  deference  into  the 
postchaise,  seating  himself  beside  her. 

They  are  about  to  drive  away  when  the  innkeeper, 
hastily  running  up  to  their  carriage,  says :  "  Your  pass- 
ports, please?  This  upturning  of  the  government  has 
made  me  forgetful." 

Adrienne  is  hastily  and  nervously  seeking  for  her 
paper  as  the  cavaliere  hands  his  to  the  man. 

Glancing    at    it,    the    fellow    grins,    and    remarks 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  39 

"  Venire  bleu  I  A  little  comedy  of  Monsieur's !  Made- 
moiselle is  your  apprentice  ? "  then  calls  cheerily : 
"  Drive  on,  boys !  " 

And  the  postilions  whipping  up,  the  chaise  rolls  out 
of  the  courtyard  of  the  Cheval  Blanc,  Adrienne  gazing 
astounded  both  at  her  unexamined  passport  and  her 
compagnon  de  voyage. 

"  They  thought  you  were  my  apprenticed  pupil,"  re- 
marks Carlo.  "  Permit  me" — he  glances  at  the  open 
paper,  and  reading  there  "  Adele  Pichoir,  age  twenty- 
five,  seamstress,"  he  turns  his  eyes  upon  the  lady's 
white  hand,  and  noting  her  delicate  fingers  show  no 
needle  marks,  his  face  grows  dark;  he  has  no  further 
doubt  that  a  spy  sits  beside  him. 

With  this,  sudden  resolution  comes  to  him.  The  ob- 
ject of  his  journey  being  disclosed  to  the  Austrian  gov- 
ernment will  not  only  mean  his  instant  arrest  when 
he  reaches  Lombardy,  but  perhaps  the  seizure  of  arms 
vital  to  the  success  of  the  insurrection.  He  is  de- 
termined that,  when  the  tocsin  sounds,  he  must  be 
free  to  fight  the  battles  of  his  country. 

"  She  has  forced  herself  upon  me,"  he  reflects. 
"  Upon  her  devilish  head  be  it !  "  and  gives  her  a 
threatening  glance,  as  the  carriage  rumbles  out  of  the 
little  town  and  goes  up  hill  and  down  dale,  nearly  fol- 
lowing the  line  of  excavation  of  the  railroad  that  is  in 
process  of  completion. 

It  is  growing  dark.  The  road  is  lonely.  The  sleepy 
postboys  are  scarce  thinking  of  what  they  are  doing, 
when  astonishment,  dismay,  and  horror  come  in  awful 
shock  to  Adrienne  de  Portalis.  The  man  in  the  carriage 
with  her  suddenly  draws  down  the  blinds  of  the  vehicle 
Before  she  can  speak  he  seizes  her  white  throat  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  flashes  a  gleaming  stiletto  over 
her  heart,  snarling :  "  Austrian  spy,  one  word  from 
your  false  lips ;  one  movement  of  your  hands,  and  you 
are  dead !  Make  no  resistance !  " 

So,  holding  her,  and  she  being  under  fear  of  death 
from  this  man,  wjio  must  be  a  robber  who  has  dis- 


40  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

covered  she  has  money  about  her,  Carlo  da  Messina, 
forcing  his  handkerchief  between  her  red  lips,  which 
are  now  growing  pale  with  terror,  and  her  pearly  teeth 
that  chatter  as  if  she  had  the  ague,  he  ties  it  behind  her 
head,  gagging  her. 

Then,  quickly  taking  her  own  scarf,  he  binds  her  lit- 
tle fluttering  wrists  together  securely  behind  her  back, 
and  places  her  on  the  seat  in  front  of  him,  muttering,  in 
hoarse  menace :  "  Move,  Jezebel,  and  you  die !  " 

And  so  they  ride  on  into  the  night  that  is  growing 
deeper,  he  apparently  meditating  to  what  horrible  fate 
he  will  put  his  victim,  while  all  the  time  the  staring  eyes 
of  his  captive,  perhaps  made  more  beautiful  by  flashes  of 
wild  agony  in  their  brown  depths,  gaze  upon  him  as  if 
asking :  Does  this  ferocious  bandit  mean  only  murder, 
or,  perhaps,  even  a  greater  horror,  to  the  helpless  girl 
whose  life  he  holds  within  his  brutal  hands? 

But  Carlo  is  debating  not  what  to  do,  but  how  to  do 
it ;  i.  e.,  to  place  this  woman  who  has  dogged  his  step? 
where  she  will  do  him  and  his  cause — Italian  liberty, 
that  he  deems  much  more  sacred  than  his  safety — any 
further  harm. 

"  This  devil's  passport,  permitting  her  to  journey  to 
Genoa  via  Marseilles,  shows  that  she  intended  to  follow 
me  to  Italy,  doubtless  there  to  give  such  information  to 
the  Austrian  authorities  that,  added  to  the  suspicions 
they  already  have  of  me,  means,  at  the  very  best,  soli- 
tary confinement  in  an  Austrian  fortress.  Curse  her!  " 
he  cogitates.  "  She  shall  not  make  a  Silvio  Pellico 
of  me.  No  oubliette  of  the  Spielbergh  Fortress  for 
Carlo  da  Messina !  In  this  crisis  of  my  country  my 
hands  must  be  unfettered  to  fight  for  Italy !  " 

Turning  it  over  in  his  mind,  he  sees  no  way  to  per- 
mit this  woman  to  live  and  be  safe  himself.  He  is  striv- 
ing to  bring  himself  to  the  awful  resolve,  to  poniard 
her  and  throw  her  body  out  of  the  carriage  in  the  dark- 
ness, though  he  dare  not  do  this  until  the  next  stage. 
Their  postilions  have  seen  the  woman  enter  the  car- 
riage with  him.  At  change  of  horses,  new  postboys 


ADRIENNE    DE    PORTALIS.  4! 

will  take  their  places,  and,  with  the  blinds  drawn  down, 
will  hardly  notice  the  chaise  has  two  people  in  it ;  then 
he  must  act ! 

But  even  as  he  strives  to  bring  his  mind  to  take  the 
necessary  action,  his  whole  being  revolts  at  the  cruel 
deed.  He  can  not  help  pitying  the  creature  he  is  about 
to  sacrifice  upon  what  he  considers  the  altar  of  Italian 
liberty.  The  girlish  face  that  had  looked  in  such  child- 
ish pathos  into  his  will  come  into  his  imagination.  Be- 
sides, as  he  sternly  bound  her,  some  inkling  of  the  lithe 
beauty  and  exquisite  graces  of  that  youthful  figure, 
which  struggled  so  piteously  under  his  strong  arm, 
had  come  to  his  acute  senses.  It  bore  no  passion  with 
it;  his  mind  had  been  intent  only  upon  his  safety,  but 
an  innate  artistic  sense  of  the  beauty  he  is  about  to 
sacrifice  lingers  in  his  imagination. 

So  he  thanks  God  the  darkness  does  not  perjnit  him 
to  more  than  discern  dimly  the  slight,  helpless  figure, 
that  sways  to  and  fro  with  every  jolt  of  the  lumbering 
coach,  and  that  the  gloom  prevents  his  seeing  no  more 
than  the  outline  of  the  pretty,  muffled  head  whose  eyes, 
even  in  the  darkness,  seem  to  flash  with  despair  into  his 
as  he  awaits  the  time  when  he  must  act,  for  they  will 
shortly  be  at  the  next  posthouse,  and  after  they  have 
changed  horses  and  new  postilions  have  mounted,  the 
girl  must  die. 

But  while  he  is  thinking,  Adrienne's  mind,  which  has 
recovered  from  the  first  dazed  horror  of  his  sudden  at- 
tack, now  notes  that  she  has  not  yet  been  robbed,  and 
remembers  that  this  man,  as  he  seized  her,  called  her 
an  Austrian  spy. 

Therefore,  very  shortly  after  this,  the  cavaliere 
starts,  astonishment  coming  unto  him,  for  a  little  foot  is 
kicking  his  own  in  a  trembling,  half-hearted  kind  of  a 
way.  He  gazes  at  the  girl,  and  sees  that  she  has  crossed 
her  ankles  and  extended  them  toward  him.  Seeing 
that  he  has  noticed  this,  Adrienne  presents  her  two 
helpless  hands  bound  behind  her  back.  This  she  does 
twice  before  he  understands. 


42  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

He  whispers :  "  You  wish  me  to  tie  your  feet  so  I 
dare  unbind  your  hands  ?  " 

The  muffled  head  nods  to  him. 

"  Basta!  I  were  a  coward  if  I  could  not  trust  a  weak 
girl  that  far !  "  thinks  the  man. 

In  a  moment  he  has  bound  the  trembling  feet  to- 
gether and  cautiously  released  one  hand  of  the  captive. 
The  next  instant  he  starts  as  the  delicate  fingers  clutch 
in  the  darkness  a  gold  pencil  case  that,  in  the  after- 
noon, Adrienne  had  noticed  attached  to  his  watch 
chain. 

"  Sapristi!  little  devil,  you  wish  to  write?" 

The  muffled  head  nods  again.  In  a  moment  he  pro- 
duces his  pocketbook,  and  striking  a  lucifer  match  from 
the  box  he  carries  for  convenience  as  a  smoker,  the  fol- 
lowing curious  interview,  illumined  by  the  sharp  flashes 
of  the  lucifers,  takes  place. 

The  girl  writes  in  trembling,  yet  hurried  characters : 
"  I  am  not  a  spy." 

"  Impossible !  Don't  lie  to  me !  " 

"  God  help  me ;  it  is  the  truth !  " 

"  Then  who  are  you  ?  "  he  whispers  to  her. 

"  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  woman  in  the  world." 

"  I  can  well  believe  that,"  mutters  the  cavaliere, 
grimly,  "  unless  you  prove  to  me  that  you  are  not  what 
I  suspect.  Your  name?" 

"  Adele  Pichoir,  seamstress." 

"  Don't  lie  any  more !  Your  dainty  fingers  show  no 
marks  of  the  needle  ;  your  handkerchief  bears  a  coronet ; 
your  outer  dress  is  that  of  a  workingvvoman,  but  your 
skirts  are  cambric  decked  with  lace,  and  your  shoes, 
my  friend  Cremieux,  who  admires  pretty  feet,  informs 
me  are  in  the  first  fashion,  and  must  have  cost  at  least 
two  louis  d'ors." 

"  Holy  Virgin,  pity  me !  "  writes  the  girl.  "  Must  I 
tell  you  the  truth  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  to  live,  yes !  "  he  replies.  "  And  quick- 
ly !  Now,  your  true  name !  " 

"  I  am  Adrienne  La  Baronne  de  Portalis." 


ADIUENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  43 

"  Then  why  the  assumed  name  and  false  passport  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  fugitive !  " 

"  A  fugitive !  "  sneers  the  cavaliere.  "  From  whom — 
your  husband?  I  can  see  by  your  ring  you  are  mar- 
ried !  " 

"  No.    I  am  a  widow !  " 

"  Then  from  whom  do  you  fly  ?  Answer  as  you  value 
your  life.  " 

"  From — Oh,  Monsieur,  for  the  love  of  God  do  not 
betray  me — from  the  police." 

"Diavolo!" 

"  But  I  am  innocent." 

"  Of  course!  But  I  can  not  listen  just  now  to  your 
very  suspicious  story.  I  see  the  lights  of  the  posthouse 
just  ahead  of  us.  Only  remember,  you  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  me  if  you  are  not  an  Austrian  mouche, 
whose  report  would  mean  my  ruin.  But,  until  I  am 
sure,  please  give  me  your  hand — at  once! "  for  the  cap- 
tive hesitates. 

Though  this  man's  manner  is  somewhat  softened  and 
his  voice  is  not  as  harsh  as  it  had  been,  there  is  some- 
thing in  his  attitude  that  seems  to  compel  the  young 
widow's  obedience.  She  falteringly  extends  to  him 
her  delicate  wrist,  which  is  immediately  bound  to  the 
other.  Then  he  rapidly  mutters :  "  Excuse  me,"  in 
somewhat  more  tender  tone,  and,  draping  her  with  a 
long  traveling  cloak  he  has  with  him,  seats  her  in  the 
far  away  corner  of  the  chaise  on  the  opposite  side  to 
the  lights  of  the  posthouse,  as  they  dash  up  to  it. 

"  Just  remain  quiet,"  he  whispers,  and  I  will  hear 
the  rest  of  your  tale  after  we  are  on  our  way  again. 
Then,  putting  his  head  out  of  the  carriage  window,  he 
promptly  declines  proffered  refreshment  from  the 
keeper  of  the  house. 

Ten  minutes  after  they  are  on  the  road  again,  new 
postboys  riding  in  advance.  The  darkness  has  scarce 
closed  about  them,  before  Adrienne  finds  her  hands  un- 
bound, and,  to  her  relief,  the  gag  taken  from  her  mouth. 

"  I  will  trust  you  this  far,"  he  says.    "  Now  tell  me 


44  ADRIENNE    DE    PORTALIS. 

* 

your  story,  and  do  not  forget  that  if  you  convince  me  of 
its  truth  you  shall  receive  from  me  not  only  ample 
apology,  but  any  aid  I  can  give  you  in  the  calamity 
which  you  say  has  come  upon  you." 

"  Must  I  tell  everything  ?  " 

"  Everything,  as  you  hope  for  mercy  from  me." 

"  Then,"  the  girl's  voice  is  very  pleading  now,  "  I  am, 
as  I  told  you,  Adrienne  La  Baronne  de  Portal  is.  My 
father,  who  died  when  I  was  an  infant,  was  a  Parisian 
banker,  Cesar  Rammeau,  who  left  behind  him  quite  a 
fortune,  that  is  now  settled  upon  me,  and  which,  I  be- 
lieve, has  increased  materially.  My  mother,  God  bless 
her,  Cora  Rammeau,  though  in  certain  points  a  weak 
woman,  loved  me  very  tenderly.  I  was  educated  at  the 
convent  school  of  the  Dames  du  Sacre  Cocur,  Rue  de  la 
Sante,  Paris.  At  eighteen  I  was  taken  from  the  con- 
vent to  be  married  to  the  late  Baron  Rayon  de  Portalis, 
a  gentleman  I  had  never  seen,  and  old  enough  to  be 
more  than  my  father.  Of  course,  I  could  not  love  him, 
though  I  respected  him,  and  he  was  very  kind  to  me. 
Shortly  after  the  wedding  my  dear  mother  died  and 
left  me  surrounded  by  a  family  who,  I  think,  hate  me." 

"  Your  dead  husband  ?  " 

"  No — his  mother  and  his  brother.  His  mother  is  a 
horrible  commercial  miser.  My  husband,  a  man  of 
trade,  was  ennobled  nearly  twenty  years  ago  for  his  dis- 
coveries in  the  manufacture  of  potteries  which  have 
been  declared  of  national  importance.  Therefore,  he 
was  always  a  tradesman,  but  he  was  very  kind  to  me, 
until  he,  not  much  more  than  two  weeks  ago,  died. 
From  that  time  my  life  has  been  a  Hades.  His  relations 
wished  his  money ;  they  wanted  mine,  too.  By  the  mar- 
riage settlement,  my  mother,  a  woman  of  slight  will, 
had  permitted  my  husband  the  control  of  my  dot.  When 
his  will,  which  left  everything  to  me,  was  opened,  only 
two  days  ago,  imagine  the  rage  of  his  miser  mother  and 
the  hatred  of  his  good-for-nothing,  worthless  brother, 
whose  only  hope  of  fortune  came  from  the  deceased. 
They  turned  upon  me.  They  even  hinted — God  forgive 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  45 

them!  that  I — that  I — had  poisoned  my  husband." 
Da  Messina  can  see  the  girl  is  wringing  her  hands. 
"  But  I  forced  them  to  retract  that ;  that  was  too 
atrocious !  They  did  not  dare  mention  their  cowardly 
charge  to  the  notaries  and  officials  of  the  will ;  but  to 
them  they  accused  me  of  having  altered  the  last  testa- 
ment of  my  husband.  True,  I  had  written  a  codicil  at 
my  husband's  dictation,  but  that  was  no  crime;  his 
disposition  of  his  property  was  only  made  to  give  me 
independence  from  his  family  who,  he  guessed,  did  not 
love  me.  So  they  accused  me  of  forgery.  They 
swore  to  lies,  and  I — a  girl  who  even  now  knows  noth- 
ing of  the  world,  having  passed  from  the  convent  to 
the  care  of  a  husband  who  was  jealous  of  my  youth 
and  kept  me  secluded,  but  who  guarded  me — I  feared ! 
For  I  discovered  that  they  had  even  sent  for  the 
agents  of  Monsieur  Vidocq  to  arrest  me!  I  feared 
that  the  horrible  fate  might  come  upon  me  of  Marie 
Cappelle  Lafarge,*  who,  though  she  cries  out  she  is 
innocent,  is  even  now  entombed  for  life  in  an  awful 
prison,  for  the  murder  of  her  husband,  though  most 
of  the  world  believes  she  is  the  most  wronged  woman 
upon  this  earth. 

"  What  was  I  to  do,  browbeaten  and  accused  in 
that  way?  I  had  no  relatives  of  my  own  to  protect 
me.  When  they  sent  for  the  officers  to  arrest  me — 
O  Monsieur!  they  gloatingly  told  me  of  it — the  mad- 
ness of  panic  came  upon  me.  I  was  so  crushed  they 
had  no  fear  of  my  escaping.  I  threw  my  personal  jew- 
els into  my  pocket  and  ran  to  the  carriage-house 
in  the  grounds  about  our  home,  at  Sevres,  to  the 
only  person  I  thought  pitied  me,  our  old  coachman, 
and  begged  him  to  drive  me  into  Paris.  I  had  some 
thought  of  going  to  a  lawyer,  but  we  had  hardly  gone 

*The  case  of  Madame  Lafarge  was  at  that  time  one  of  the  most  discussed 
reuses  celebre  in  France.  Marie  Cappelle,  whose  father  was  an  officer  in  the 
French  army  and  of  very  good  blood,  had  been  married  to  a  man  of  affairs. 
At  his  death  his  family  accused  her  of  having  poisoned  her  husband  in  order 
to  obtain  his  estate.  Though  she  was  imprisoned  for  life  for  this  offense, 
ther«  are  many  grave  doubts  of  the  justice  of  her  sentence,  and  at  that  time 
about  one-half  the  people  of  France  believed  her  to  be  innocent.— ED. 


4-6  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

half  a  mile  along  the  road  when,  to  my  horror,  we  were 
pursued  by  two  men,  officers  of  the  Bureau  de  Surete, 
in  a  fiacre.  I  begged  the  old  coachman  to  drive  on.  He 
did  so.  We  dashed  over  the  Pont  de  Sevres  and  flew 
through  Auteuil  and  Passy,  leaving  far  behind  the 
hired  fiacre  of  the  officers;  but  just  as  we  reached  the 
Neuilly  Avenue  one  of  my  horses  threw  a  shoe  and  be- 
came so  lame  that  he  could  travel  no  more,  though,  per- 
haps, the  family  coachman  had  become  too  frightened 
to  aid  me  further.  Anyway,  by  his.assistance  I  engaged 
a  coupe  that  chanced  along  seeking  a  fare. 

"  By  this  time  the  officers  were  again  close  to  me, 
and  chased  me  into  Paris,  where  probably  I  would  not 
have  escaped  them  had  it  not  been  that  the  mob  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Concorde  recognized  them  as  policemen 
and  dragged  them  out  of  their  carriage. 

"  Then — then  came  the  dead  woman,"  and  the  girl 
goes  on  and  gives  Carlo  a  history  of  her  preceding 
night  in  Paris,  punctuating  it  with  sighs  and  em- 
phasizing its  horrors,  sometimes,  in  her  agony,  with 
pleading  hands  that  seek  his  as  if  for  sympathy. 

To  this  she  adds :  "  I  had  intended  to  speak  to 
lawyers,  but  the  fear  of  prison  drove  me  frantic.  All 
I  thought  was — to  get  as  far  from  the  police  as  possible 
— to  avoid  arrest.  The  dead  woman's  passport  gave  me 
a  chance  to  fly  to  Italy.  On  the  steamboat  I  became 
alarmed  at  attentions  that  shocked  me.  I  had  no  ex- 
perience of  the  world ;  I  had  never  traveled  without  pro- 
tection, without  kindness,  without  love.  The  awful 
words  of  the  men  on  the  boat,  their  brutal  compliments, 
their  hideous  suggestions  of  passion — drove  me  to  your 
side  as  the  only  man  I  dared  trust.  The  gendarme 
frightened  me.  At  one  time  I  thought  he  was  detailed 
for  my  seizure,  but  afterward  I  learned  that  he  only 
wanted  to  degrade  me  like  the  rest,  and  then — perhaps, 
I  feared  him  more.  But  why  need  I  speak  further? 
Oh,  God,  forgive  you  the  agony  you  brought  to  me, 
when  I  thought  you  were  a  bandit  who  was  going  to 
murder  me  for  the  little  money  I  had  with  me!  But 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  47 

you  are,  I  now  think,"  she  adds,  a  tinge  of  archness  in 
the  sad  timbre  of  her  voice,  "  a  fugitive  like  myself. 
You  feared  I  was  an  Austrian  spy;  that  is  why  you 
treated  me  so  harshly,  but  I  will  forgive  you  if  you  say 
you  believe  my  story."  Her  clinging  hands  are  clutch- 
ing his. 

"I  do !  "  says  the  cavaliere,  after  a  few  moment's 
contemplation,  "  though  it  is  a  most  extraordinary 
tale,  one  that  would  hardly  be  believed  by  anyone  not 
appreciating  how  little  you  know  of  the  world.  Would 
you  like  my  advice  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!" 

"  Then,  frankly,  the  greatest  mistake  you  have  made, 
Madame  la  Baronne,  has  been  your  flight.  You  had 
the  money  side  of  the  affair.  The  property  was  willed 
to  you." 

"  But  I  had  no  champions.  I  had  only  one  friend,  an 
old  banker,  and  he  was  also  the  friend  of  my  husband's 
mother." 

"  Pish !  Your  money  would  have  bought  you  many 
advocates;  your  beauty  would  have  gained  you  many 
supporters.  A  rich  and  almost  childlike  widow !  You 
could  have  snapped  your  fingers  in  the  faces  of  your 
accusers." 

"  But  I  thought  of  Madame  Lafarge — I  was  frantic 
with  terror  at  her  fate.  My  husband's  mother  held  it 
up  to  me !  " 

"Madame  Lafarge's  husband  died  of  poisoning; 
yours  did  not ;  "  dissents  her  adviser.  "  Had  you  re- 
mained in  Paris  your  chances  would  have  been  ten  to 
your  enemies'  one." 

"  Then  I  will  go  back  there !  "  cries  the  girl,  an  ex- 
cited hope  in  her  voice. 

"  That  was  before  you  fled." 

"  But  I  have  not  been  arrested !  " 

"  No,  but  you  have  made  use  of  a  false  passport  to 
avoid  the  police;  you  have  evaded  the  law  as  if  you 
were  guilty.  You  have  done  exactly  what  your  per- 
secutors wished.  It  will  very  shortly  be  nosed  out,  by 


48  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

the  hounds  of  Monsieur  Vidocq,  that  you  left  Paris, 
using  the  passport  of  the  dead  woman,  Adele  Pichoir, 
to  escape  arrest.  If  you  return,  you  can  be  sure  that 
your  enemies  will  say  that  you  fled,  actuated  by  the 
fears  of  a  criminal,  but,  finding  that  you  could  not  get 
out  of  France,  that  ultimate  escape  was  hopeless ;  then 
as  a  last  resort  you  returned  to  attempt  to  brazen  it 
out." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  you  show  me  that  I  am  lost !  "  sobs  the 
girl. 

There  is  an  unaffected  misery  in  both  her  voice  and 
manner  that  gives  Da  Messina  greater  faith  in  her  story 
than  he  has  had  before.  He  had  said  that  he  believed 
her,  but  it  was  more  to  quiet  her  hysterical,  nervous  agi- 
tation than  from  any  absolute  conviction  of  its  truth, 
though  many  of  her  actions  this  day,  as  he  reconsiders 
them,  tend  to  convince  him  that  the  girl's  attaching  her- 
self to  him  has  been  from  fright  rather  than  from  arti- 
fice. 

"  Then  what  do  you  advise  me  to  do?  "  she  asks,  a 
helpless  dejection  in  her  tone. 

"  You  have  no  chance  with  the  passport  in  your  hand 
of  escaping  arrest.  It  states  that  Adele  Pichoir  is 
twenty-five — you  look  very  much  younger.  You  are 
described  as  a  seamstress,  when  your  fingers  have  no 
needle  scars  upon  them,  and  seem  much  too  dainty 
for  those  of  a  sewing  girl.  In  addition,  probably  even 
by  this  time,  there  are  sleuth-hounds  on  your  track 
who  have  guessed  the  very  passport  you  are  now 
using." 

''  You  think  my  hackman  will  play  me  false?  " 

"  No !  Because  he  would  get  himself  into  trouble  if 
he  did.  But  the  record  of  passports  issued  will  show 
one  given  to  the  woman,  whose  death  must,  by  this 
time,  be  known  to  official  Paris.  Then,  the  books  of 
the  steamboat  ticket  office  will  disclose  that,  though 
Adele  Pichoir  is  dead,  some  other  woman  has  used  her 
passport,  leaving  Paris  on  the  Montereau  boat.  If 
they  really  are  in  pursuit  of  you,  trust  me,  lacking 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  49 

other  clews,  they  will  follow  the  woman  bearing  the 
passport  of  Adele  Pichoir.  This  passport  you  will  be 
compelled  to  exhibit  in  order  to  proceed  upon  your 
journey.  Even  to-morrow  morning  you  won't  be  able 
to  take  the  diligence  at  Troyes  until  it  is  inspected.  In 
Lyons,  again,  it  must  be  examined.  Traveling  with 
this  passport  you  will  be  surely  lost,  unless  Monsieur 
Vidocq  has  become  imbecile  from  old  age." 

"Mon  Dieu — aie  pitie  de  moil  To  be  dragged  back 
a  criminal — my  very  flight  used  to  prove  my  guilt," 
shudders  Adrienne,  then  cries  frantically :  "Aid  me, 
Monsieur — aid  me!  You  have  a  passport  that  called 
for  some  one  traveling  with  you,  some  pupil,  or  appren- 
tice ;  why  couldn't  I  escape  from  France  by  that  ?  " 

Here  the  gentleman  gives  a  sudden  start,  and  mut- 
ters :  "Santa  Maria,  that  is  an  idea !"  As  into  the  mind 
of  the  Cavaliere  da  Messina  suddenly  flies  the  thought : 
"  By  the  grace  of  God,  here's  the  pupil  apprentice  I 
was  to  take  back  to  Italy,  in  my  very  hands !  " 

"  Let  me  think  of  your  suggestion  a  moment,"  he 
adds.  And  after  some  few  minutes'  contemplation  of 
the  chances  of  the  affair  turning  out  properly,  he  sud- 
denly turns  to  the  young  lady,  who  has  been  trying  to 
discern  his  face  by  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  and 
asks :  "Do  you  think  you  can  look  sixteen  years  of 
age?" 

"  Oh,  Monsieur !  I — I  could  try,"  answers  his  cap- 
tive, very  eagerly. 

At  the  naivete  of  this  remark,  he  bursts  out  laugh- 
ing ;  then  says  in  business  tones :  "  Here's  my  word 
to  you,  Madame  la  Baronne.  I  was  to  take  to  Italy  an 
apprenticed  pupil,  to  be  taught  singing,  music,  and  the 
arts  of  the  stage.  Her  parents  believed  I  could  make 
her  a  diva,  though  Estelle  had  a  very  indifferent  voice. 
Now,  my  proposition  to  you  is  this :  You,  in  place  of 
her,  must  become  my  articled  apprentice." 

"  But  that  means  a — a  sort  of  servitude?"  falters  Adri- 
enne, a  tinge  of  terror  in  her  voice,  for  the  moonlight 
has  now  come  into  the  carriage,  and  as  she  watches  his 


5O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

face,  instinctively  she  feels  this  man,  if  she  gives  herself 
into  his  hands,  will  be  her  master — perhaps  at  times  a 
very  exacting  one. 

"  In  the  eyes  of  my  aunt,  la  Signora  Giuseppina  Bianr 
chi,  who  keeps  a  school  for  the  training  of  singing  and 
dancing  girls,  in  Milan,  it  is  servitude  to  art  and  also 
to  her.  But,  I  will  doubtless  be  a  more  easy  padrone. 
Only  such  is  the  nature  of  my  journey  that  I  must  have 
implicit  obedience  from  you,  which  will  be  for  your 
safety  as  well  as  my  own,  for  though  there  is  no  abso- 
lute extradition  between  France  and  Italy,  the  Austrian 
officials  in  Lombardy  have  a  habit  of  delivering  any 
criminal  demanded  by  the  French  government.  Only 
having  made  your  decision,  and  given  me  the  oath  I 
shall  demand  of  you,  you  must  remain  faithful  to  it. 
You  must  also  take  the  name  Estelle  Gabrielle 
Chartres." 

"  And  if  I  do  not  consent  ?  " 

"  Then,  of  course,  we  part  at  Troyes,  for  I  dare  no 
longer  assume  the  risk  of  one  who  will  be  very  shortly 
arrested  by  the  French  police.  In  addition,  you  must 
make  your  decision  very  quickly." 

"  Why  can  not  I  have  more  time  to  consider  ?  " 

"  For  this  reason :  By  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune 
and  a  foolish  agent  de  poste,  your  passport  was  not  ex- 
amined at  Montereau,  the  innkeeper  mistaking  you  for 
my  apprentice.  Therefore,  the  police,  following  the 
passport  of  Adele  Pichoir,  will  lose  it  at  that  place.  But 
in  case  you  do  not  agree  to  my  proposition  you  will  be 
compelled  to  show  your  paper  at  the  diligence  office  at 
Troyes,  and  there  Monsieur  Vidocq's  agents  will  again 
get  track  of  it  and  receive,  not  only  the  description  of 
your  dress,  but  also  your  route.  Trust  me,  as  Adele 
Pichoir,  you  will  hardly  reach  Lyons  without  falling 
into  your  pursuers'  hands." 

"  Ah  !  but  if  even  I  do  become  your  apprentice,  if  my 
pursuers  are  at  Troyes,  they  will  recognize  my  dress  as 
that  worn  by  the  woman  who  took  her  ticket  at  the 
Steamboat  office.  If  they  reach  there  later  than  I  do,  I 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  5! 

will  be  described  to  them  as  having  worn  such  a  gar- 
ment when  I  arrived  from  Montereau." 

"  No !  "  answers  Da  Messina,  in  startling  logic.  "  Be- 
cause, if  you  agree  to  my  terms,  you  will  step  out  of  this 
carriage  at  Troves,  garbed  as  my  apprenticed  pupil, 
Estelle  Gabrielle  Chartres,  and  as  much  like  a  girl  of 
sixteen  as  you  can  get." 

"  But,  my— my  clothes  ?  " 

"  You  have  others  in  your  trunk,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,  mercy,  I  forgot !  In  that  old  trunk  are  some  of 
the  school  frocks  I  wore  at  the  convent." 

"  Bravo ! "  cries  the  cavaliere,  cheerily,  adding, 
doubtfully.  "  Will  they  fit  you?  " 

"  Yes.  I  am  a  little  taller,  but  as  slight  as  when  I 
left  the  Sacre  Cceur." 

"  Very  well.  You  must  make  the  change  in  this  very 
carriage." 

"  Oh,  mercy !  " 

Carlo  can  guess  that  Madame  la  Baronne  is"  blushing 
to  her  eyes. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  laughs.  "  Just  after  day- 
break I  shall  get  out  and  leave  you  to  yourself.  Before 
this,  at  the  posthouse,  I  shall  put  your  valise  inside. 
The  first  long  hill  we  come  to,  I  shall  direct  the  boys  to 
drive  slower,  and  I  shall  walk  for  exercise.  When  I  re- 
turn, and  open  the  door  of  this  carriage,  I  shall  expect 
to  see  you  frocked  as  a  schoolgirl  and  my  very  docile 
apprentice.  But,  do  you  give  your  assent?  Are  you 
willing  to  take  sacred  oath  that  you  will  sign  articles  of 
indenture  to  me  as  Estelle  Gabrielle  Chartres  when  pre- 
pared, and  until  that  time,  and  after  it,  be  entirely  un- 
der my  law  and  government  ?  " 

"  I — "  the  girl  pauses,  reluctant  hesitation  in  her 
voice,  "I — I  must  do  always  your  commands?"  she 
asks,  nervously. 

"  Certainly." 

"  If  I  disobey,  I — I  will  be  punished  ?  "  her  tones  are 
trembling. 

He  considers  a  moment,  and  then  answers :    "  Cer- 


52  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

tainly.  Government  to  be  effective  must  be  coercive. 
As  a  bound-girl  of  scarce  sixteen,  I  shall,  of  course, 
treat  you  as  a  child.  I  tell  you  candidly  that  the  lot  of 
an  articled  apprentice  in  Italy  is  by  no  means  luxurious. 
If  by  the  exigencies  of — of  the  business  in  which  I  am 
engaged " — he  hesitates  a  little  over  the  term — "  I 
should  be  compelled  to  leave  you  under  the  rule  of  my 
aunt,  at  her  hands  your  duties  will  be  hard,  your  disci- 
pline very  severe." 

"  I— Oh,  Heaven,  let  me  think!  " 

"  At  your  pleasure,"  murmurs  Carlo.  "  And,  with 
your  permission — you  do  not  object  to  a  cigar?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  my  husband  smoked  often." 

He  lights  a  weed  and  puffs  it  contemplatively,  while 
Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis  tries  to  bring  herself 
to  accept  a  condition  that  she  dreads.  Something  in 
this  man's  voice  tells  her  that  in  his  hands  she  will  be 
ruled  despotically. 

Suddenly,  from  behind  them,  in  the  quiet  of  the  night, 
is  heard  the  sound  of  a  galloping  horse. 

"  They — they  are  pursuing  me !  "  she  gasps.  "  Yes, 
yes,  Monsieur,  I  accept  the  conditions.  Save  me  from 
them!" 

"  Do  not  let  me  take  advantage  of  your  terror,"  re- 
plies Da  Messina,  coldly.  "  The  night  is  quite  early. 
The  man  you  dread  is  probably  some  farmer  making  his 
way  home  from  some  village  wineshop.  Only,  after 
you  have  given  me  your  oath  I  can  not  release  you  from 
it." 

"  I — I  accept !  "  whispers  the  trembling  girl,  per- 
chance urged  to  her  decision  by  the  apparent  re- 
luctance of  the  gentleman  to  coerce  her  to  it. 

"  Consider !  There  will  be  no  turning  back  after  this, 
for  my  safety  will  depend  upon  your  being  my  appren- 
tice and  treated  as  such,  especially  after  we  are  in  Italy." 

"  Yes  ;  I  understand.  I  have  considered  ;  I  am  ready, 
Monsieur." 

She  is  seated  opposite  to  him,  but  at  his  command — 
he  apparently  knowing  that  ceremony  is  impressive  to 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  53 

girls  who  have  seen  little  but  a  convent — Adrienne 
obediently  places  her  slight  hands,  which  seem  to  him 
icy  cold  and  tremble  a  little,  between  his  strong  ones. 
So  posed,  she  half  ejaculates,  half  sighs  out,  the  oath 
he  dictates  to  her,  for  its  words  make  her  understand 
that  she  is  swearing  away  her  liberty  of  action  by 
everything  she  holds  sacred  in  this  world  and  the  next. 

"  You  understand  thoroughly  your  position  to  me  ?  " 
he  says,  impressively,  when  she  has  completed  her  ad- 
juration. 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur,"  she  answers,  her  voice  low 
in  resignation  and  clear  with  mental  conviction.  "  I  am 
your  bound-girl.  As  I  surrendered  to  you  my  liberty, 
I  remembered  what  I  had  read  of  Italian  padronage. 
For  the  term  of  my  agreement,  I  am  little  better 
than  your  serf.  You  instruct  me  in  what  you  think  is 
to  your  interest.  At  your  word  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
sing  or  dance  upon  the  stage,  and  my  earnings  go  to 
you.  If  I  am  rebellious,  I  have  read  that  girls  of  my 
kind  are  well  beaten  in  Italy.  I  know  my  fate." 

"  Pish !  Under  my  hand  you  will  not,  I  hope,  fare  so 
badly,"  remarks  il  cavaliere,  dryly,  adding,  cheerily: 
"  Who  knows ;  some  day  I  may  make  you  a  prima 
donna." 

The  firmness  of  her  tone  astonishes  him.  It  indi- 
cates that,  though  inexperienced  in  the  world,  this 
widow,  who  is  still  almost  a  child,  has  an  intelligence 
to  comprehend  and  a  courage  to  meet  her  cruel  situa- 
tion. This  will,  in  some  respects,  make  his  coercion  of 
her  easier,  in  others  much  more  difficult;  so  he  con- 
tinues, commandingly :  "  From  this  moment,  remem- 
ber that  you  are  no  more  Madame  la  Baronne  de 
Portalis.  You  are  now  my  bound-girl,  Estelle 
Gabrielle  Chartres.  Repeat  your  new  name  after  me, 
so  that  you  will  know  it !  " 

This  she  does  several  times,  in  clear,  cold,  decided 
tones,  answering  when  he  calls  her  "  Estelle  "  and  re- 


54  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

plying  when  he  addresses  her  as  "  Mademoiselle 
Chartres." 

But,  this  lesson  being  over,  Adrienne  remarks,  a 
pleading  in  her  tone :  "  Now,  surely,  you  may  trust 
me  enough  to  release  me  entirely !  Believe  me,  Mon- 
sieur, I  will  be  very  obedient." 

"  Oh,  in  the  darkness  I  forgot !  Pardon  me,"  Carlo 
mutters,  and,  reaching  down,  unties  the  scarf  from  his 
apprentice's  pretty  feet.  These,  he  now  perceives,  are 
very  high  instepped  and  her  slight  ankles  are  exquisitely 
rounded. 

A  moment  after,  having  apparently,  made  up  his  mind 
to  a  distinct  line  of  action,  her  padrone,  for  as  such 
Adrienne  now  regards  him,  says  suddenly :  "  Estelle, 
you  must  sleep  now,  in  order  to  be  strong  for  your 
morning's  ordeal." 

She  starts  at  her  new  name,  but  answers :  "  Yes,  I — 
I  am  very  tired.  All  last  night,  in  the  little  room  at 
Mere  Grenouile's,  I  awoke  at  every  passing  sound,  fear- 
ing it  was  the  officers  making  demand  for  me." 

Even  while  she  is  speaking,  with  an  air  of  authority, 
the  gentleman  has  deftly  arranged  one  seat  of  the  ve- 
hicle so  that  his  charge  can  recline,  and  made  a  pillow 
of  a  rug  that  the  postchaise  contains.  Obeying  his 
directions,  she  places  her  head  upon  it.  He  throws  a  robe 
over  her,  and  whispers :  "  Think  no  more  for  yourself. 
This  journey  is  now  my  affair.  I  will  take  care  that  it  is 
for  you  a  safe  one." 

His  words  seem  to  lift  a  load  off  this  girl,  who,  until 
these  last  few  days,  has  scarce  attempted  to  guide  her- 
self. With  a  little  sigh,  half  of  helplessness,  half  of 
rest,  she  closes  her  eyes,  and  after  a  few  minutes  her 
guardian  is  pleased  to  see  that  insensibility  has  come  to 
his  charge. 

"Basta!"  he  communes  with  himself.  "She'll  be 
an  awful  responsibility,  upon  this  journey."  Then  he 
turns  eyes  of  sympathy  upon  the  sleeping  girl,  and  mut- 
ters :  "  Poor  devil — her  terror  makes  me  pretty  certain 
her  story  is  true.  But,  all  the  same,  Madame  la  Baronne 


ADRTENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  55 

will  have  to  be  taught  absolute  obedience,  for  on  it  will 
depend  not  only  her  safety,  but  my  safety,  and  in  this 
crisis  of  my  country  I  will  give  Italy  every  chance." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  METAMORPHOSIS  OF  MADAME  LA  BARONNE. 

Some  hours  after  this,  as  daylight  is  coming  into  the 
coach  windows,  Adrienne  finds  herself  awakened  firmly, 
yet  considerately.  The  cavaliere  is  whispering  to  her, 
"  We  are  nearing  the  posthouse,  where  I  must  have  your 
trunk  put  into  the  carriage." 

"  I — I  am  so — so  very  sleepy,"  mutters  his  charge, 
her  half-closed  eyes  peering  about  the  coach  in  a  dazed 
way.  For  a  moment  she  thinks  the  whole  affair  a 
dream,  but  his  hand  is  upon  her  shoulder,  and  his  voice 
says,  sharply :  "  Estelle,  arouse  yourself  at  once !  This 
is  the  only  chance  for  you  to  make  your  change  of 
dress." 

Her  new  name  smites  her  with  the  truth. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I Oh,  Heaven !  "  she  mur- 
murs, frantically.  "  It  is  true ;  I  remember — I  am  a 
fugitive.  I  must  do  this  to  escape  ?  "  As  she  speaks, 
her  tone  grows  more  resolute. 

"  Yes.  To  prevent  any  one  noticing  you,  I  will  per- 
sonally place  the  trunk  in  the  coach." 

Two  minutes  after  they  are  halted,  changing  horses 
at  the  posthouse. 

"  Would  you  care  for  a  glass  of  wine  ?  I'll  try  and 
get  one,"  he  suggests. 

"  No,  but  I'd  like  a  drink  of  water,"  she  answers 
eagerly. 

This  he  brings  to  her  with  his  own  hand. 

"  Now  for  your  trunk,"  he  whispers,  and  a  little  ad- 
miration, likewise  a  little  awe,  flies  into  the  young 
.widow's  eyes  as  Carlo  da  Messina  shows  an  athlete's 


56  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

strength  handling  the  trunk  with  about  the  ease  ordi- 
nary men  would  a  carpet-bag.  She  can  not  help  con- 
trasting him  with  her  late  senile  husband. 

Putting  this  into  the  interior  of  the  vehicle,  his  new 
protegee  having  no  key  for  it,  her  mentor  quickly  forces 
the  lock,  and  displays  before  her  its  contents,  at  which 
she  bursts  out  sobbing : 

"  God  pity  me !  These  are  the  relics  of  my  girlhood ; 
the  trinkets  I  had  in  the  convent  when  I  was  happy. 
Mon  Dieu,  what  a  fate  has  come  upon  me !  " 

"  To  escape  that  fate !  "  Carlo  commands,  sternly. 
"  For  your  safety,  for  my  safety,  Estelle,  you  must  con- 
quer your  emotions  and  do  my  bidding." 

"  Ah,  yes ! — my — my  new  name,"  she  whispers. 
Then  as  they  drive  along  she  murmurs  to  him :  "  Yes, 
I  understand.  I  am  to  try  and  look  sixteen,  and  be 
very  obedient.  I  am  your  bound-girl,  Monsieur  " — 
this  last  with  an  attempted  archness  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes.  The  postboys  inform  me  that  a  good  long 
hill  is  a  mile  or  so  ahead.  By  that  time  it  will  be  light 
enough  for  you  to  make  your  schoolgirl  toilet.  There  I 
shall  get  out  and  walk.  The  postilions  will  doubtless 
drive  slowly  up  the  ascent.  I  will  make  them  linger  as 
long  as  possible,  to  give  you  ample  opportunity,  though 
be  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  comprehend,"  and  as  she  speaks  Adri- 
enne  goes  to  looking  over  and  selecting  the  articles  for 
her  purpose. 

)  Ten  minutes  later,  drawing  down  the  blinds  on  the 
windows,  Carlo  steps  out  of  the  carriage,  and,  lifting 
his  hat,  cries :  "  Estelle,  I  shall  take  a  little  exercise !  " 

They  are  approaching  the  beautiful  vine  country, 
through  whose  hills  the  Seine,  a  little  river  now, 
dashes  brightly  on.  The  sunrise  of  the  bright,  crisp 
winter  morning  makes  even  the  leafless  picture  a  pleas- 
ant one ;  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys  of  a  neighboring 
hamlet  seems  to  give  it  life  and  movement.  Dividing 
his  time  between  the  view  and  the  puffs  of  a  well- 
flavored  cigar,  il  Cavaliere  da  Messina  contrives  to 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  57 

spend  a  passable  half-hour  strolling,  a  little  distance 
behind  the  chaise,  up  the  long  hill,  as  the  postboys  walk 
their  horses.  The  sun  is  now  brilliant  in  the  heavens. 

He  steps  up  to  the  carriage  that  has  nearly  reached 
the  summit,  and,  rapping  lightly  upon  the  panel  of  the 
door,  asks,  "  Are  you  ready,  Estelle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Monsieur,  no !  I — I  have  on  but  one  shoe — be- 
sides, my — my  hair !  " 

"  Very  well ;  take  five  minutes  more !  "  he  laughs,  and 
finishes  his  cigar  as  he  chats  with  the  postilions,  who 
[walk  their  horses  to  the  apex  of  the  rise. 

"  Are  you  ready  now,  Estelle?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  quite  ready !  "  A  light  hand  lets 
the  blinds  of  the  carriage  windows  fly  up. 

Opening  the  door,  Carlo  da  Messina  pauses,  astound- 
ed. Fine  feathers  make  fine  birds,  but  here  is  one  who, 
though  not  in  fine  feathers,  is  a  very  fine  bird,  for 
Adrienne  only  has  needed  a  chance  to  show  her  youth- 
ful, vivacious  face,  which  as  yet  has  not  been  matured 
by  passion,  to  make  a  very  beautiful  picture,  and  her 
toilet  gives  to  the  young  widow  a  very  juvenile  appear- 
ance. This  is  emphasized  by  the  shyness  of  her  eyes 
and  the  embarrassment  of  her  manner,  though  Da  Mes- 
sina can  not  help  noticing  the  grace  of  her  bearing  and 
the  resolution  in  her  bright  face.  She  is  costumed  a  la 
schoolgirl  in  a  frock  she  probably  had  worn  when  she 
was  only  sixteen,  for  its  skirt  of  soft  gray  cloth  doesn't 
reach  the  ground  by  some  few  inches.  Peeping  out 
from  it,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day,  are  two  little  feet 
in  high-heeled  shoes,  draped  to  the  delicate  ankles  by 
profusely  frilled  and  ruffled  trousers  of  snowiest  linen. 
Upon  her  blushing  head  is  a  white  hat  of  leghorn  strau , 
trimmed  by  a  single  white  ribbon.  From  beneath  this, 
in  luxurious  bands,  her  brown  hair  gleams  in  the  sun  as 
it  is  gathered  about  her  shapely  head  and  braided  into 
one  long,  luxuriant  queue  that  dangles  even  below  her 
waist,  where  it  is  ended  and  adorned  by  a  piquant  bow 
of  white  ribbon. 


58  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

"Santa  Maria!"  ejaculates  the  gentleman,  a  curious 
gleam  in  his  dark  eyes,  as  he  steps  in  beside  her. 

"  You — you  like  my  frock  ?  "  whispers  the  lady. 

"  Yes ;  only  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  attract  too  much 
attention  from  gentlemen." 

"  Is  that  always  a  fault?  " 

"  No ;  but  in  your  case  it  would  be  a  misfortune.  The 
less  remark  we  cause,  the  easier  will  be  our  journey. 
And  now  you  will  excuse  me."  Carlo's  face  grows  very 
red,  for  a  moment  his  voice  seems  to  hesitate.  Then  he 
goes  stoutly  on :  "I  have  to  speak  to  you  about  money. 
Anything  more  than  a  few  francs  in  the  pocket  of  a 
singing-girl  would  be  more  than  suspicious.  I  must 
ask  you  to  let  me  take  charge  of  your  money.  Believe 
me,  I  shall  account  to  you  for  every  sou  of  this  when 
our  compact  is  over." 

For  one  instant  Adrienne's  face  grows  pale  with  sus- 
picion. Then,  the  common-sense  of  his  suggestion 
striking  her,  without  a  word  she  produces  from  the  dis- 
carded brown  dress  the  packet  of  billets  de  banque  she 
has  sewn  inside  of  it,  and  also  tenders  him  her  purse. 

At  sight  of  this  he  sneers :  "  Cospetto,  a  portemon- 
naie,  with  a  coronet  on  it !  Oh,  you  would  have  made 
a  most  plausible  sewing-girl!  This  pocketbook  must 
go  into  the  fire ;  this  brown  dress  of  the  dead  woman's — 
everything  that  tends  to  link  you  to  your  former  life." 

"  My  schoolgirl  trinkets  ?  This  picture  of  my  dead 
mother !  "  half  shrieks  the  girl. 

"  No ;  I — I  will  make  a  sealed  packet  of  them,  and 
leave  them  with  a  banker  in  Troyes,"  interjects  her  gov- 
ernor. "  I  can  not  ask  you  to  sacrifice  so  much.  Then 
you  can  send  for  them  at  a  later  and,  perhaps,  happier 
day." 

"  Oh,  thank  you — thank  you !  "  whispers  Adrienne, 
her  eyes  growing  bright  with  gratitude. 

"  Your  clothes  in  your  trunk  are  marked  ?  "  he  sug- 
gests. 

"  By  my  maiden  initials,  A.  R.,  which  will  not  sug- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  59 

gest  to  prying  eyes  the  name  of  De  Portalis,"  answers 
Adrienne. 

"  But  even  these  must,  at  the  first  opportunity,  be 
changed  to  the  initials  of  Estelle  Gabrielle  Chartres," 
suggests  her  mentor.  "  Here  are  a  few  francs  and  some 
pennies  to  put  in  your  pocket.  These  are  even  more 
than  a  girl  in  your  position  ought  to  carry.  Believe  me, 
this  money  business  is  the  hardest  part  of  my  duty  to 
you — my  duty  to  myself — for  your  fate  and  mine  are 
now  linked  very  closely  together;  remember  that,  Es- 
telle!" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  understand,"  falters  the  young  lady,  bit- 
ing her  lip  and  feeling  that  now  she  is  indeed  dependent 
upon  her  ruler. 

A  moment  later  she  suggests  diffidently,  as  if  fearing 
refusal :  "  We  are  at  another  small  hill.  I  have  been  in 
the  carriage  so  long,  a  little  exercise  would  be  pleasant 
to  me ;  can  I  get  out  and  walk  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly.  The  winter  air  is  brisk.  Permit 
me,"  and  Carlo  shawls  her  carefully.  As  he  does  so,  he 
notes  that  the  only  contradictions  to  extreme  youth  in 
his  pupil  are  the  exquisite  contours  of  her  figure,  whose 
rounded  outlines,  both  of  bust  and  limbs,  indicate  bud- 
ding womanhood.  Fortunately,  these  are  rendered  in- 
distinct by  a  childish  corsage,  whose  loose  drapery  par- 
tially conceals  her  graces. 

"  We'll  take  a  stroll  together."  He  steps  out  and  cour- 
teously, even  ceremoniously,  assists  her  from  the  ve- 
hicle. 

As  he  stands  before  her  in  the  sunlight,  she  fur- 
tively glances  up  at  his  face,  studying  the  countenance 
of  this  man  in  whose  hands  fate  has  placed  her.  A  look 
of  confidence  comes  into  her  eyes.  Whatever  else  he 
may  be,  her  padrone  is  certainly  a  gentleman.  The  sun- 
light playing  about  his  handsome  face  shows  very  clear- 
ly the  refinement  of  his  determined  features,  the  tender- 
ness of  his  eyes  being  contradicted  by  lips  that  are  firm, 
though  passionate.  Altogether,  il  Cavaliere  Carlo  da 
Messina,  with  his  erect,  graceful  figure,  dark,  curly 


60  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

hair,  and  tang,  drooping  mustache,  makes  an  impressive 
picture,  his  gestures  at  times  giving  a  romantic,  perhaps 
even  a  theatrical,  vivacity  to  his  appearance. 

But  as  she  gazes  Adrienne  catches  a  glint  in  his  eyes 
that  makes  her  stammer,  a  slight  tremor  on  her  delicate 
lips :  "  You — you  are  displeased  with  me?  " 

"lam!" 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done?" 

"  You  are  careless !  " 

The  coach  is  already  well  in  advance  of  them  on  its 
way  up  the  hill.  As  they  stroll  after  it,  he  continues : 
"  A  wedding-ring  on  your  finger  is  not  very  appropriate 
for  a  schoolgirl  of  sixteen !  " 

"  Oh — I — I  forgot !  "  stammers  his  protegee. 

"  Take  it  from  your  finger  at  once !  " 

Carlos's  tone  is  more  severe  than  he  intends  it  to  be, 
for,  as  he  glances  at  the  beautiful  widow,  who  stands 
in  almost  childish  loveliness,  now  so  completely  in  his 
power,  the  first  curious  gleam  of  a  latent  jealousy  for 
the  man  who  had  once  called  this  graceful  creature 
"  wife  "  comes  into  his  heart. 

Therefore  his  eyes  are  stern  also  as  he  remarks : 

"  You  certainly  must  see,  Estelle,  that  every  relic  of 
your  former  life  must  be  put  away  from  you." 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  I — I  understand,"  mutters  his  ap- 
prentice, as  she  removes  the  ring  from  her  finger. 

"  Give  it  to  me !  " 

"  But — oh,  please — it  is '•" 

"  Yes,  I  understand  precisely  what  it  is." 

"  But  you  will  not  destroy  it?  " 

"  No,  I  will  place  it  with  the  other  articles  you  cher- 
ish, and  deposit  all  under  seal,  as  I  before  told  you,  with 
the  banker  at  Troyes.  Pardon  me  if  I  seem  harsh,  but 
we  are  both  compelled  to  extreme  circumspection." 
Then,  as  if  wishing  to  change  the  course  of  the  girl's 
thoughts,  he  speaks  more  lightly  :  "  By  the  bye,  as  I  am 
your  music  teacher,  tell  me  what  you  know  about  the 
art.  Sing  for  me  the  diatonic  scale,  ascending  and  de- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  6l 

scending.  Of  course  you  learned  that  much  at  the  con- 
vent?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  And  Adrienne,  in  trembling  voice  and 
with  some  hesitation,  runs  through  the  exercise  for  him. 

"  Now  the  chromatic,  ascending,  descending."  And 
his  pupil  doing  as  she  is  bid,  he  remarks :  "  It  would 
not  be  bad  if  you  were  not  so  agitated.  You,  I  can  see, 
have  a  correct  ear,  which  is  of  vital  importance.  A 
voice  may  be  improved,  even  manufactured ;  but  with- 
out an  ear,  music  is  an  impossibility.  You  play  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  was  taught  at  the  convent  both  the  piano 
and  the  harp." 

"  Then  probably  you  perform  on  these  instruments 
very  indifferently,"  remarks  the  artist,  with  the  usual 
contempt  of  the  professional  for  the  amateur.  "  But  at 
the  first  opportunity  I  will  try  you.  You  dance,  of 
course?  "  He  glances  at  her  slight,  graceful  figure,  and 
now  perceives  that  she  is  of  the  medium  height ;  but  her 
short  skirts  apparently  diminish  her  stature. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a — a  little,  Monsieui.  I  was  instructed  at 
Sacre  Cccur;  but  I  only  went  to  one  or  two  balls.  You — 
you  see,  my  husband  was  very  jealous  of  me!  " 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  give  him  cause,"  returns  the  ca- 
valiere,  stifling  a  grin. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur !  "  the  startled  tone  and  blushes  of  his 
charge  answer  him ;  but  he  looks  at  her  innocent  face, 
and,  noting  that  some  day  it  will  be  a  passionate  one, 
goes  on,  in  a  tone  that  makes  her  hang  her  head :  "  Now, 
listen  to  me !  I  shall  allow  no  affairs  with  gentlemen, 
Estelle.  They  will  disturb  your  studies ;  they  will  de- 
stroy your  stage  work.  Situated  as  you  now  are,  your 
very  bread  and  butter  compels  you  to  make  a  histrionic 
success.  Mark  me,  the  first  suspicion  of  a  flirtation,  I 
call  you  to  account.  You  understand  me !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answers,  simply,  looking  him  in  the 
face,  though  there  is  a  strange  shyness  in  her  tone. 

"  Now,"  he  goes  on,  briskly ;  "  as  soon  as  possible  I 
shall  hear  you  declaim  and  sing,  and  see  you  dance,  and 
then  determine  what  line  of  dramatic  work  will  be  the 


62  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

best  for  you.  You  speak  German,  I  know,  but  not 
Italian?" 

"  No ;  I  have  read  it  a  little.  I  would  like  to  learn  the 
language  of  romance  and  passion."  The  girl's  eyes  light 
up  as  they  look  upon  her  handsome  preceptor. 

"  For  the  operatic  stage  it  is  essential  that  you  do.  I 
will  begin  to  instruct  you  in  it  at  once."  With  this,  he 
gives  her  a  short  lecture  on  the  elements  of  his  language, 
but  finishes  abruptly,  saying :  "  The  postboys  are  wait- 
ing for  us.  We  must  hurry  to  Troyes.  There  I  must 
have  at  least  an  hour  before  the  diligence  from  Paris 
arrives."  So  he  puts  her  in  the  carriage,  and,  encourag- 
ing their  postilions  by  the  promise  of  gratuity,  they 
dash  rapidly  along  over  the  well-kept  posting  road. 

They  have  scarce  seated  themselves,  when  he  sug- 
gests :  "  You  must  know  something  of  your  new  self, 
Estelle  Gabrielle  Chartres,"  and  gives  his  apprentice 
a  short  account  of  the  girl  whose  place  she  has  taken, 
adding :  "  Now,  collect  the  trinkets,  valuables,  and 
letters  you  wish  me  to  deposit  for  you  at  Troyes.  I 
believe  I  know  the  right  man,  an  old  local  banker, 
Darton,  on  the  Rue  de  la  Cite." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  murmurs  Adrienne,  in  grateful 
tones,  doing  as  she  is  bid,  though  tears  come  into  her 
eyes  as  she  bends  over  her  open  trunk  and  takes  adieu 
of  the  souvenirs  of  a  past  that  seems  now  so  absolutely 
cut  off  from  her. 

A  moment  later,  Carlo  makes  a  packet  of  the  articles 
she  has  selected  in  some  stout  wrapping  paper  that  the 
girl,  fortunately,  finds  in  her  trunk.  "  Quick !  "  he  says, 
in  rapid  voice.  "  The  brown  dress,  and  all  other  belong- 
ings of  Adele  Pichoir.  You  must  also  sweep  your  trunk 
clear  of  any  convent  articles  that  may  link  you  to 
Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis." 

And  she  surrendering  these  to  him,  he  commands : 
"  Make  another  search !  Be  very  sure  you  leave  no 
trace  behind  you.  I  shall  have  a  big  fire  in  my  room  at 
the  hotel  in  Troyes,  and  these  will  all  disappear  in 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS,  63 

smoke.  The  packet  I  shall  carefully  seal  and  deposit  for 
you." 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  else ;  you  have  everything  that 
— that  links  me  to  my  old  life,"  she  sighs. 

"  Now  I  have  all,  except  the  passport  of  Adele 
Pichoir — that  is  very  important.  Please  give  it  to  me 
at  once,"  he  remarks,  briskly. 

"  The — the  passport?  "  she  stammers. 

"  Yes ;  I  must  use  it  to  dupe  the  officers  who  are  seek- 
ing you." 

But  here  she  horrifies  him  by  faltering :  "  The  pass- 
port is  gone.  While  dressing  I  tore  up  the  paper  of 
Adele  Pichoir,  and  threw  the  little  bits  out  of  the  car- 
riage window.  They  are  scattered  along  the  road." 

" Maladetto!"  he  gasps.  "All  last  night  I  plotted 
that  that  passport  should  be  shown  from  one  town  to 
another  leading  the  hounds  of  Monsieur  Vidocq  upon 
the  track  of  Adele  Pichoir  to  Belgium,  thereby  giving 
you  free  journey  to  the  south  with  me." 

"You  could  have  done  that?"  she  ejaculates  in 
amazed  unbelief. 

"  Certainly !  The  Society  of  Young  Italy  has  mem- 
bers in  every  town  in  France !  "  he  says,  impressively. 
"  And  now  my  plans  for  you  are  naught !  "  There  is 
a  sadness  in  his  voice  that  touches  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me !  "  she  pleads.  "  Last  night,  while 
I  slept,  you  were  thinking  for  my  safety  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little.  But,  Dio  mio,  your  action  has  placed 
new  difficulties  before  us."  He  is  speaking  with  Latin 
explosiveness.  "  From  now  on,  in  word  and  deed,  you 
must  be  absolutely  my  bound-girl,  Estelle  Gabrielle 
Chartres.  Dash  from  your  head  that  you  were  once 
Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis.  From  this  moment 
you  must  assume  the  actions  of  your  station.  You  must 
address  me  as  '  Mio  padrone; '  you  must  courtesy  when 
I  speak  to  you  ;  you  must  come  when  I  call '  Estelle ! ' ' 

"  Yes,  sir,  I — I  understand." 

"  Now,  let  me  teach  you  who  thy  padrone  is.  You 
must  know  me  as  '  il  Cavaliere  Carlo  Tomasso  da  Mes- 


64  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

sina/  at  one  time  teacher  of  the  voice  at  the  Conserva- 
tory di  Santa  Maria,  Naples,  and  also,  occasionally,  to 
favorite  pupils  in  the  school  of  my  aunt,  Signora  Bian- 
chi,  at  Milan,  but  perhaps  more  generally  known  to  the 
world  upon  the  stage  of  the  opera  at  La  Scala  and  La 
Fenice  as  '  Pergolese.' ' 

"  What !  "  screams  the  girl.  "  Carlo  Pergolese,  the 
tenor  about  whom  all  Italy  raves!  Oh,  Monsieur,  I 
have  read  of  your  triumphs !  " 

"  Thank  you,  little  one,"  returns  the  artist,  smiling 
suavely  at  the  compliment  not  only  of  Adrienne's  lips, 
but  of  her  eyes,  for  these  are  turned  upon  him  in  a  kind 
of  admiring  wonder. 

"  But  we  have  got  dust  upon  that  pretty  jupe  and 
those  white  trousers,"  he  laughs,  and  with  the  easy 
familiarity  of  authority  he  stands  his  pupil  on  her  feet 
and  brushes  the  dirt  from  her  frock  with  his  handker- 
chief, as  she  blushingly  turns  her  eyes  from  his.  "  And 
now  sit  up  on  the  seat  and  look  most  demurely  juvenile, 
for  we  are  very  close  to  Troyes,  where  you  are  going  to 
be  the  most  retiring,  modest  little  chick  in  France." 

"  You — you  think  I  will  look  young  enough  ?  "  she 
asks,  anxiously. 

"  Yes — hardly  over  fifteen,"  says  her  mentor  cheerily. 
"  You  understand  thoroughly  that  for  your  safety  you 
will  be  treated  like  a  little  girl." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Monsieur ;  I  understand !  "  and  her  face 
grows  haughty,  then  tears  fly  into  the  bright  eyes  of 
Madame  la  Baronne. 

So  they  dash  through  the  streets  of  the  quaint  and 
ancient  town,  once  the  capital  of  Champagne,  and  draw 
up  in  the  courtyard  of  the  old-fashioned  Hotel  de  la 
Croix  d'Or. 

Here  Carlo,  springing  from  the  carriage,  calls :  "  Es- 
telle,  petite,  step  out !  " 

And  she,  faltering,  "  Yes,  mio  padrone,"  prepares  to 
descend  from  the  vehicle.  Even  as  she  places  her  little 
hand  upon  his  proffered  arm  she  seems  to  shrink  from 
he  ordeal  of  a  new  childhood. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  65 

The  provincial  courtyard  is  full  of  lounging  post- 
boys, tourists,  travelers,  and  a  few  ladies,  who  are  about 
taking  the  diligence  going  north.  The  one  coming  from 
Paris,  Da  Messina  is  delighted  to  learn,  will  probably 
not  arrive  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

"  It  has  been  delayed  by  the  revolution,"  he  is  told  by 
the  bustling  matre  d'hotel,  who  comes  out  in  person  to 
welcome  the  new  arrivals,  for  everyone  here  seems  to  be 
aware  of  the  fact  that  Louis  Philippe  has  been  over- 
thrown and  fled. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  speech  the  landlord,  suddenly 
turning  his  eyes  to  the  carriage,  remarks :  "  Monsieur, 
what  a  pretty — I — I  mean  haughty — child  you  have 
under  your — your  charge !  "  The  last  of  this  is  an 
agitated  stammer,  for  the  "  pretty  child  "  has  given  him 
a  very  savage  look. 

"  Yes,  my  apprentice,  whom  I  am  taking  to  Italy  to 
educate  for  the  operatic  stage,"  remarks  the  cavaliere 
carelessly ;  then  says  hastily,  for  he  is  anxious  to  get  out 
of  the  crowd,  "  Descend  at  once,  Estelle !  " 

With  this,  Madame  la  Baronne  puts  her  pretty  foot 
on  the  step  of  the  carriage  and,  feeling  strangely  em- 
barrassed in  the  short  skirts  of  childhood,  descends  into 
the  courtyard. 

Excessive  modesty  usually  attracts  attention.  The 
gaze  of  the  loungers  at  the  hotel  entrance  naturally  rests 
upon  the  charming  yet  shrinking  figure.  Under  their 
curious  glances  Adrienne  for  one  moment  is  strangely 
haughty;  then,  thinking  of  her  short  skirts,  is  very 
blushing,  shy,  and  bashful,  even  as  a  young  girl  should 
be.  She  only  wants  to  get  out  of  the  public  eye,  her 
agitation  being  increased  by  the  sight  of  a  man  who 
has  just  ridden  in  on  horseback,  bringing  some  further 
news  from  Paris,  he  says.  But  some  woman's  instinct 
makes  her  suspicious  of  the  fellow. 

In  this  wish  she  is  very  shortly  accommodated. 
Without  consulting  her,  Da  Messina  immediately  leads 
his  protegee  into  the  p?xrlor,  ?nd  as  soon  as  arrangements 
are  made  conducts  her  to  a  little  chamber.  Glancing  in, 


66  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

he  remarks :  "  This  is  at  your  service.  Make  yourself 
as  comfortable  as  possible.  By  my  order,  there  is  a  fire, 
and  your  trunk  is  ready  for  you.  The  diligence  from 
Paris  has  been  delayed,  and  will  not  be  here  for  some 
time.  You  had  better  sleep,  or  would  you  first  prefer  a 
cup  of  coffee?  I  would  send  up  your  breakfast,  but  I 
wish  you  to  take  that  meal  with  me  in  the  dining  salon. 
It  is  prudent  for  us  to  be  seen  together  and  you  recog- 
nized as  under  my  direction." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  consideration,"  answers  Adri- 
enne.  "  No  need  of  the  coffee;  I  am  quite  tired." 

"  Then  au  revoir.    I  go  to  deposit  your  valuables." 

"  Thank  you." 

She  turns  to  enter  the  room,  but  he  calls  her  back,  and 
says  sharply :  "  You  forget !  " 

"Forget  what?" 

"  The  courtesy  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  make  when 
you  leave  your  padrone,"  he  says  sharply.  "  Make  me 
a  low  one,  so  that  you  will  remember  the  next  time." 

For  one  second  Madame  la  Baronne's  eyes  flash,  and 
a  red  spot  comes  upon  either  cheek,  which  before  this 
had  been  quite  pale.  Then,  draping  her  skirts  in  school- 
girl fashion  with  either  hand,  she  sweeps  down  till  her 
dainty  knee  touches  the  floor,  and,  rising,  says :  "  Is 
that  precise  enough,  mio  padrone?  "  the  words  seeming 
to  linger  in  her  throat,  as  she  enters  the  bedroom  and 
closes  the  door  behind  her. 

With  every  nerve  in  her  body  bounding  in  rebellion, 
she  stamps  her  little  feet  till  the  well-starched  frills  on 
her  white  trousers  rustle,  and  mutters  to  herself :  "  Not 
even  a  kind  glance !  Dressed  as  a  child ;  treated  as 
if  I  were  the  veriest  infant !  I'll — I'll " 

But  whatever  resolve  is  in  her  pretty  head,  it  never 
escapes,  for  just  here  she  starts  and  opens  her  ears,  and 
after  a  few  moments  her  face  becomes  suddenly  pale. 
Then  listening  again,  her  eyes  grow  agonized. 

Two  men  pass  through  the  lobby  just  outside  her 
room.  She  can  hear  them  step  into  the  next  apartment. 
This  is  en  suite  with  her  chamber,  connected  by  a  door, 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  67 

which  is  apparently  secured  and  bolted,  as  she  notices 
some  one  is  trying  the  lock. 

Then  a  cautious  voice  remarks :  "  Innkeeper,  we  have 
no  neighbors  here  ?  " 

"  No,  only  a  girl,  who  amounts  to  nothing — going  to 
Italy  to  be  taught  to  sing  and  dance  upon  the  stage,  I 
believe;  a  mere  child,  who  has  been  so  ruled  that  she 
trembles  at  every  one's  glance,  and  most  of  all  at  her 
padrone's,  who,  I  can  see,  has  a  very  strict  hand  with 
her."  In  this  reply  she  recognizes  the  voice  of  the 
aubergiste. 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  will  come  to  business.  I  did  not 
dare  question  you  in  the  publicity  of  your  office,"  says 
the  other.  "  I  am  an  employee  of  Monsieur  Vidocq's 
private  inquiry  office,  on  the  Rue  Vivienne.  I  want  to 
know  if  you  have  seen  in  the  last  few  hours  a  woman 
giving  the  name  or  using  the  passport  of  Adele  Pi- 
choir?" 

At  this  there  is  a  little  moaning  gasp  from  Adrienne 
under  her  breath. 

"  No.  No  such  woman  is  registered  here,"  replies 
the  landlord. 

"  In  case  she  should  be,  you  must  notify  me  at  once. 
This  woman  Adele  Pichoir  was  killed  two  nights  ago." 

"  Diable!  Then  you  should  seek  her  in  the  other 
world !  "  grins  the  innkeeper. 

" Mille  tonnerrcsl"  growls  the  other.  "Don't  play 
with  an  officer  of  justice.  This  passport  of  Adele  Pi- 
choir  was  used  by  a  woman  taking  the  boat  to  Monte- 
reau.  It  is  the  woman  using  the  false  passport  whom 
we  are  seeking.  One  of  us  was  dispatched  last  evening 
to  Montereau,  but  it  struck  Monsieur  Vidocq  that  the 
culprit  might  journey  by  private  conveyance  from  that 
town  to  this  place,  as  the  passport  is  issued  to  Lyons 
and  Marseilles ;  so  I  have  come  hurriedly  on  to  discover 
if  she  is  in  Troyes.  The  fugitive  will  look  much  young- 
er than  the  age  mentioned  on  the  passport,  twenty-five. 
She  will  also  be  aristocratic,  though  her  papers  will 
state  she  is  a  seamstress.  I  will  now  go  to  the  De  la 


68  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Fontaine,  and  also  inspect  all  other  inns  of  the  town. 
But  remember,  there  is  a  reward  of  ten  thousand  francs 
for  the  woman  I  seek,  and  a  little  of  it  may  find  its 
way  into  your  pocket,  Monsieur  Innkeeper,  if  you  help 
me." 

"  Sacrc  bleu!  Then  I  will  keep  a  sharp  eye  for  Adele 
— what  was  her  name?  " 

"  Adele  Pichoir,"  repeats  the  officer.  "  You  can  re- 
serve this  room  for  me ;  I  will  make  it  my  headquarters 
while  I  am  in  your  town.  Twenty-four  hours  will  prob- 
ably settle  whether  the  woman  comes  here  or  not." 

"  Ten  thousand  francs !  "  laughs  the  landlord.  "  We 
will  go  and  have  a  glass  of  wine  together,  in  hope  of 
getting  some  of  it." 

And  the  two  leave  the  room,  their  hurried  footsteps 
beating  a  tattoo  on  Adrienne's  heart,  as  she  mutters : 
"  Oh,  I  am  indeed  in  the  toils !  I  have  no  hope  outside 
of  my  padrone — that's  what  he  is ;  that's  what  he  must 
be !  Oh,  why  is  he  so  stern  with  me  ?  If  he  would  be 
but  a  little  kinder  to  me,  I  would " 

But  a  blush  checks  the  sentence,  as  this  youthful 
widow  sinks  into  a  chair,  wringing  her  hands  help- 
lessly, the  terror  of  the  pursued  and  the  hunted-down 
being  upon  her. 


BOOK  II. 
A  PATRIOT  CONSPIRATOR. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   AUSTRIAN    CAPTAIN. 

Consequently,  when,  about  an  hour  after  this,  Carlo 
da  Messina,  who  has  received  good  news  from  Italy  by 
a  compatriot  in  the  town,  raps  upon  the  door  of  his  pro- 
tegee's room,  and  calls  quite  cheerily,  "  Estelle,  in  half 
an  hour,  breakfast !  "  it  is  immediately  opened  by  a  very 
wild-eyed  young  lady,  who  puts  her  finger  upon  her 
pale  lips,  and  whispers :  "  For  the  love  of  God,  take  me 
where  I  can  speak  to  you  and  not  be  overheard !  " 

Her  appearance  indicates  to  her  guardian  that  some- 
thing extraordinary  has  happened.  He  says  calmly  but 
loudly  for  the  benefit  of  any  neighboring  ears,  "  Very 
well,  since  you  are  prepared,  Estelle,  we  will  take  a  little 
walk  before  breakfast."  As  they  pass  down  the  stairs 
together,  Carlo  chats  to  Adrienne  upon  the  ordinary 
business  of  their  journey,  stating  that,  by  a  gentleman 
and  his  wife  having  postponed  their  trip  to  Lyons,  he 
has  been  enabled  to  book  two  seats  in  the  diligence  for 
Chalons,  adding :  "  There  we  will  take  steamboat  down 
the  Saone,  and  pass  a  quiet  Sunday  in  commercial 
Lyons,  where  you  can  have  a  day's  rest,  petite." 
'  While  he  is  speaking,  they  have  stepped  out  of  the 
courtyard  of  the  hotel.  Wandering  through  the  nar- 
row streets  of  the  old  town,  they  shortly  find  themselves 
upon  some  open  fields,  which  have  since  been  made  into 
the  Boulevard  Gambetta. 

Here,  looking  carefully  around  and  observing  only 


70  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

some  distant  laborers  and  gardeners,  her  mentor  says  to 
her :  "  Now  tell  me  your  story,  child." 

And  she  affrightedly  describes  what  she  had  over- 
heard in  the  adjoining  room. 

At  her  story  his  face  grows  serious.  "  You  see,"  he 
whispers,  "  what  a  poor  chance  you  would  have  had 
bearing  the  passport  of  Adele  Pichoir.  Now,  however, 
I  think  I  can  make  everything  very  safe  for  you.  Listen 
to  my  directions.  In  case  this  mouchard,  learning  that 
we  have  come  from  Montereau,  should  attempt  to  ques- 
tion you " 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  "  asks  Adrienne,  in  eager 
agitation. 

"  Only  this :  that  you  are  not  permitted  by  your  pa- 
drone to  speak  to  gentlemen.  That  will  settle  the  matter. 
Diable!  If  you  should  attempt  explanation  to  the  spy, 
your  frightened  manner  would  perhaps  betray  you." 
He  gazes  a  little  more  tenderly  at  Madame  la  Baronne, 
who,  under  his  inspection,  is  blushing  delightfully. 

Then  he  continues  :  "  I  have  the  receipt  for  your  val- 
uables from  the  banker  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cite.  This  I 
shall  indorse  over  to  you  when  you  are  safe  in  Italy.  As 
we  return  to  the  hotel,  in  excuse  for  our  walk,  we  will 
make  a  purchase." 

In  the  streets  of  the  town  they  soon  find  a  bookstore. 
Here  they  buy  an  Italian  grammar.  As  they  come  out, 
he  taps  the  volume  lightly,  and  remarks :  "  Estelle,  in 
the  diligence  this  will  be  useful.  When  you  feel  em- 
barrassed, hide  your  face  in  the  book.  Besides,  as  you 
have  to  study  Italian,  your  time  will  not  be  thrown 
away." 

So  they  stroll  back  to  the  hotel,  where,  appetite  hav- 
ing come  with  her  walk  to  his  bashful  eleve,  Carlo  leads 
his  beautiful  charge  into  the  dining-room.  Here,  seated 
vis-a-vis  with  her  guardian  at  a  little  table,  Mademois- 
elle Estelle  Gabrielle  Chartres  goes  through  her  break- 
fast so  prettily  that  many  masculine  eyes  are  attracted 
to  this  blushing  girl,  who  seems  just  on  the  border-line 
of  childhood  and  womanhood. 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  71 

Once  or  twice  during  the  progress  of  the  repast  she 
seems  surprised,  as  she  is  treated  quite  en  fillette,  and  is 
not  consulted  as  to  what  dishes  she  would  like,  though 
a  very  good  but  plain  meal  has  been  selected  for  her. 

She  fights  down  a  moue  at  this,  for  she  has  sense 
enough  to  perceive  that  the  younger  she  is  considered 
the  less  chance  of  suspicion  coming  upon  her.  Then, 
imagining  she  sees  the  pursuing  officer  de  surete  looking 
into  the  dining-room,  she  attempts  to  play  her  role ;  but 
doing  this  a  little  boisterously,  her  guardian  suddenly 
.whispers  to  her :  "  Be  careful !  You  are  attracting  the 
attention  of  several  gentlemen  in  the  dining-room." 

"  Pish !  I  am  only  a  child,"  she  whispers,  rather 
mutinously. 

"  But  not  too  young  a  child  to  be  interesting.  That 
tall  man  over  there " 

"  Oh !  The  one  in  the  Austrian  uniform !  He  is 
very  handsome." 

"  Diavolo !  You  have  been  using  your  eyes,  eh  ?  He 
is  booked  in  the  diligence  coupe  with  us  to  Chalons." 

"  Ah,  then,  remembering  your  commands,  I  shall 
read  my  Italian  grammar !  "  remarks  Estelle,  demurely, 
and  finishes  her  breakfast. 

Noting  this,  her  padrone  says :  "  The  coach  will 
soon  be  at  the  door."  And,  leading  her  to  the  waiting- 
room,  he  steps  out  to  arrange  about  their  luggage. 

A  moment  after,  Madame  la  Baronne  starts  and 
trembles.  The  mouchard,  the  dreaded  mouchard,  is 
speaking  to  her. 

In  this  she  is  right,  for  learning  from  the  proprietor 
of  the  hotel,  who  is  anxious  to  assist  him,  that  the  pretty 
girl  in  the  parlor  has  this  morning  arrived  from  Monte- 
reau,  with  her  padrone,  the  officer  of  the  Bureau  de 
Surete  has  stepped  up  to  her.  He  is  quite  a  dapper  fel- 
low, but  is  dressed  and  disguised  as  a  middle-class  shop- 
keeper. In  the  easy  unrefinement  a  man  of  the  people 
would  use  to  a  child,  he  addresses  the  fugitive :  "  Ma 
petite,  you  came  from  Montereau  last  night,  didn't  you, 
and  arrived  in  Troyes  this  morning  ?  " 


72  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

"  You — you  will  pardon  me,  Monsieur,"  falters  Adri- 
enne,  whose  very  agitation  seems  to  declare  her  ex- 
treme youth,  as  she  rises.  "  My — my  padrone  does 
not  permit  me  to  converse  with  gentlemen." 

"  Oho !  "  chuckles  the  police  spy.  "  Parblcu,  he  is 
right,  with  that  pretty  face  of  yours!  But  you  can 
surely  tell  me  a  few  words  about  your  journey  ?  " 

But  here  he  is  checked  by  Adrienne's  stammering 
affrightedly :  "  Monsieur,  I  beg  you,  my — my  master 
is  coming.  He — he  will  see  us!  I — I  shall  be  pun- 
ished. I " 

" Diable!  Your  padrone  must  be  a  monster!  "  jeers 
the  man ;  but  turns  away,  thinking :  "  This  poor  little 
bashful  fool  could  not  tell  me  anything.  Perhaps  this 
Italian  singing  master,  who  apparently  bullies  her,  may 
give  me  more  information."  So,  il  cavaliere  coming  up, 
he  says  to  him :  "  May  I  beg  a  word  with  you,  illustri- 
ous Signore?  I  believe  I  have  observed  you  on  the 
boulevards  of  Paris." 

"  Possibly  —  with  Monsieur  Cremieux,  who  is  my 
bosom  friend,"  returns  Carlo.  "  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

This  mention  of  the  greaty  deputy  of  the  successful 
revolution  makes  the  police  spy  very  affable  to  the 
Italian,  as  they  stroll  to  the  cafe  together,  where  Carlo 
listens  to  his  questions  about  a  woman  journeying  on 
the  Montereau  boat,  and  receives  quite  an  accurate  de- 
scription of  the  brown  dress  that  an  hour  ago  he  had 
cremated  over  a  blazing  fire  in  his  chamber  in  this 
hotel. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  did  see  someone  like  the  person  you 
mention  on  the  Montereau  boat,"  replies  Da  Messina, 
affably.  "  I  believe,  after  landing,  I  saw  her  no  more. 
But  she  could  have  hardly  come  this  way,  because 
only  one  postchaise  was  obtainable  at  the  Cheval  Blanc, 
and  that  brought  me  and  my  apprentice.  Is  there 
anything  else?  " 

"  No — only  if  Monsieur  would  mention  me  to  Mon- 
sieur Cremieux  as  an  industrious  officer,  it  would  do 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  73 

me  no  harm.  He  will  probably  be  one  of  the  provi- 
sional government,"  suggests  the  man. 

"  When  I  return  to  Paris,  call  upon  me,"  replies  the 
cavaliere.  "  But  now  you  will  excuse  me.  The  dili- 
gence is  driving  up." 

The  next  minute  Adrienne  utters  a  sigh  of  relief  as 
she  is  very  carefully  cloaked  by  her  guardian  and  led 
from  the  officer,  whose  glances  she  fears,  to  be  seated 
in  the  coupe,  the  most  pleasant  portion  of  the  vehicle, 
its  glass  doors  and  front  permitting  a  complete  view  of 
the  country. 

Into  this  also  steps  the  handsome  Austrian  officer, 
who  announces  in  his  affable  Viennese  way  that  he 
is  en  route  to  resume  his  duties  in  Milan.  "  So  I  am 
happy  to  say  we  will  journey  together  as  far  as  Cha- 
lons," he  says,  and  presents  his  card  to  Da  Messina, 
who,  reading  on  it  "  Captain  Franz  Paulus  Radetzky, 
Regiment  Maria  Theresa,"  bows  and  presents  his. 

Glancing  at  it,  the  Austrian's  face  lights  up.  He 
cries :  "  Oho !  I  am  honored.  Carlo  Pergolese.  I 
thought  I  recognized  your  face,  Signore ;  but,  of  course, 
as  Don  Giovanni,  on  the  stage  of  La  Scala,  your  ap- 
pearance was  somewhat  different  from  what  it  is  at 
present."  Then,  in  South  German  frankness,  he  laughs : 
"  And  you,  who  play  the  Lothario  to  the  very  life,  are 
now  the  protector  of  innocence !  " 

His  glance  at  Adrienne  suggests  an  introduction,  but 
her  padrone  simply  remarks :  "  My  apprentice,  who  is 
to  be  educated  for  the  stage  in  Italy."  Then  turning  to 
his  charge,  Da  Messina  suggests :  "  Now,  Estelle,  you 
will  have  a  chance  to  study  Italian,"  adding  a  few  re- 
marks upon  the  irregular  verbs  in  that  language. 

For  a  moment  his  protegee  looks  mutinous.  She 
would  much  sooner  watch  the  diligence,  with  its  five 
clumsy  horses  in  their  old-fashioned  rope  harness,  and 
listen  to  the  excited  crowd  standing  about  it.  A  mo- 
ment later  she  inwardly  thanks  her  guardian  that  he 
has  given  her  opportunity  to  conceal  the  pallid  agita- 
tion of  her  face  by  poring  over  the  volume. 


74  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

The  interieur  and  rotunde  of  the  conveyance  are  filled 
with  passengers  from  Paris,  while,  clambering  to  its  top 
behind  the  cocker,  are  three  or  four  winegrowers,  en 
route  to  Dijon.  These  are  discussing  in  loud  voice  the 
turbulent  news  that  has  just  come  from  the  capital. 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu!  "  cries  one.  "  They  have  sacked 
the  Tuileries  and  broken  all  its  fine  Sevres." 

"  Yes,  and  the  citizen-king  has  fled  under  the  name 
of  William  Smith,  Englishman !  "  guffaws  another. 

But  an  old  Royalist,  standing  by,  mutters :  "  Miseri- 
corde!  France  will  repent  this!  Some  day,  perchance, 
there  will  be  another  guillotine." 

This  seems  to  check  the  chattering  even  of  the  Re- 
publicans, for  the  horror  of  the  Revolution  of  1848  was 
the  recollection  of  the  Revolution  of  1793.  The  mo- 
ment "Vive  la  Republique!"  was  shouted,  the  guillo- 
tine seemed  to  rise  up  and  cast  its  shadow  over  every 
one. 

As  if  to  change  discussion  from  local  subjects,  some- 
one cries  out :  "  This  will  be  great  news  for  Italy ! 
Lombardy  and  Venice  will  soon  be  on  fire !  " 

"  Bah !  "  says  another.  "  Radetzky  will  settle  the 
Italians." 

"  By  the  bye,"  remarks  Da  Messina,  studying  the 
young  officer,  "  your  card  bears  the  name  of  the  Aus- 
trian field  marshal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  the  honor  to  be  a  nephew  of  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Lombardy,"  replies  his  vis-a-vis.  "  I  have  just 
been  recalled  to  join  his  staff." 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  understand  the  Milan  garrison  is  being 
re-enforced,"  replies  the  tenor. 

"  Of  that  I  have  no  knowledge,"  says  the  other,  look- 
ing rather  curiously  at  his  interrogator;  then,  as  if 
anxious  to  change  the  topic,  tapping  a  Paris  journal 
in  his  hand,  he  observes :  "  I  see  the  last  edition. of  the 
Figaro  finds  room  for  one  social,  every-day  piece  of 
news — that  of  a  great  crime." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes.    A  certain  Adrienne  la  Baronne  de  Portalis, 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  75 

having  been  discovered  forging  the  last  will  and  testa- 
ment of  her  husband,  has  taken  sudden  flight.  It  is 
now  rumored  that  she  even  put  arsenic  in  the  old  gen- 
tleman's tea." 

"  Basta,  another  Madame  Lafarge!"  ejaculates  the 
cavaliere,  moving  so  as  to  shield  his  charge  as  much 
as  possible  from  observation. 

"  Diable!  The  Figaro  states  that  Monsieur  Vidocq 
is  after  the  poor  devil — only  nineteen —  and  very  beau- 
tiful," remarks  the  young  officer.  "  I  will  read  you  the 
article." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  it  very  much,"  replies  Da  Mes- 
sina, though  he  says  sharply  to  his  protegee:  "  Estelle, 
you  had  better  attend  to  your  lesson.  Such  crimes  are 
not  good  for  the  ears  of  children." 

And  Madame  la  Baronne,  burying  her  head  in  the 
book,  appears  to  study  Italian  diligently,  though  despite 
herself  her  lips  tremble,  her  face  grows  agonized,  and 
her  whole  frame  quivers  as  she  hears  read  a  very 
spicy  article  about  her  own  pretty  self,  her  eccentric- 
ities, wickedness,  and  flight. 

"  She  also  had  three  or  four  lovers,  I  see !  "  laughs 
the  young  man. 

And  the  black  type  in  which  the  Italian  irregular 
verbs  are  printed  seems  to  grow  red  to  the  eyes  of  the 
fugitive.  But  to  the  Austrian  officer,  as  he  glances 
admiringly  toward  her,  she  only  seems  a  most  delight- 
ful child,  perchance  a  little  overgrown  and  somewhat 
ashamed  at  hearing  the  record  of  a  very  wicked  Pari- 
sian aristocrate.  Fortunately,  two  very  beautiful  feet 
and  attractive  ankles  distract  his  attention  from  the 
blushing  face,  which  is  buried  modestly  in  her  task. 

By  this  time  the  diligence  is  well  out  of  the  old  town. 
So,  fighting  to  force  her  danger  out  of  her  mind,  the 
fugitive  blesses  her  padrone's  Italian  grammar,  and, 
growing  calmer,  strives  to  appear  interested  in  the  book, 
not  one  word  of  which  is  yet  intelligible  to  her  swim- 
ming eyes. 

Over  a  very  good  road  they  climb  to  the  upper  waters 


76  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

of  the  Seine,  its  vine-clad  hills  growing  higher  and 
higher,  and  soon  after  reach,  for  dinner,  pretty  Chatil- 
lon.  Here,  the  diligence  rushing  into  the  narrow  court- 
yard, the  stable  door  opens  on  one  side  for  the  horses, 
and  the  hotel  door  on  the  other  for  the  passengers. 

At  this  meal  Da  Messina,  who,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  is  now  apparently  anxious  to  get  on  good  terms 
with  the  young  Austrian,  the  two  having  spent  most 
of  the  journey  in  a  conversation  devoted  to  the  opera 
and  music,  of  which  the  professional  finds  his  compag- 
non  de  voyage  an  enthusiastic  admirer,  feels  himself 
practically  compelled  to  introduce  him  to  his  charge, 
though  he  does  so  as  if  she  were  but  a  child. 

"  Captain  Radetzky,"  he  says,  "  this  is  my  little  ap- 
prentice, Estelle.  We  hope  to  make  the  child  a  great 
artist  in  Italy  some  day." 

Taking  the  hint,  the  officer  also  treats  Madame  la 
Baronne  as  a  child.  He  says,  playfully  :  "  If  your  voice 
is  as  beautiful  as  your  face,  you  will  undoubtedly  be- 
come the  rage." 

At  this  compliment,  not  remarkable  for  its  delicacy, 
Estelle  blushes,  but,  reflecting  that  a  young  man  of  his 
high  rank,  the  nephew  of  the  famous  Austrian  general, 
probably  thinks  he  is  more  than  polite  to  a  mere  appren- 
tice of  the  stage,  she  answers  him  quite  modestly :  "  I 
thank  you,  Monsieur.  Under  Signore  Pergolese  I 
should  be  a  dunce  not  to  succeed." 

But  the  contrast  to  the  ceremonious  way  in  which 
she  had  in  her  former  life  been  addressed  by  gentle- 
men seems  to  take  the  appetite  away  from  Mademoiselle 
Estelle  Gabrielle  Chartres,  for  as  such  Madame  la  Ba- 
ronne is  beginning  to  regard  herself.  She  begins  to  see 
that  the  world  will  have  slight  consideration  for  the 
bound-girl  of  an  Italian  padrone. 

In  another  half  an  hour  they  are  en  route  again,  and, 
the  night,  descending,  she  finds  herself  very  carefully 
wrapped  up  from  the  cold  in  rugs,  and  made  as  com- 
fortable as  it  is  possible  to  be  in  a  jolting  old  diligence. 

All  this  evening  they  rumble  on.    At  change  of  horses 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  77 

the  two  gentlemen  get  out  and  smoke  their  cigars  to- 
gether, Estelle  sleepily  noting  that  both  have  eschewed 
politics,  on  which  the  Austrian  and  the  Italian  would 
be  sure  to  disagree,  and  have  become  quite  friendly  over 
little  anecdotes  of  Milan  life,  Da  Messina  telling  his 
companion  several  stories  of  "  behind  the  scenes  "  that, 
apparently,  please  Captain  Radetzky  very  well,  for  he 
cries  out :  "  We  must  meet  in  Milan,  my  friend.  There 
you  must  introduce  me  to  the  beautiful  prima  donna, 
and  I'll  give  la  diva  a  supper.  I  believe  it  is  rumored 
that  Sophie  Olinska  is  more  epris  with  the  handsomest 
tenor  in  Italy  than  with  any  noble  of  the  court  or  officer 
of  the  army." 

"Sapristi!"  laughs  the  other.  "  Don't  believe  every- 
thing you  hear.  I'll  introduce  you  to  la  belle  Sophie, 
and  you  shall  see  that  I  am  not  the  handsomest  tenor 
in  Italy." 

They  are  lighting  their  cigars  near  the  door  of  the 
coupe.  Catching  their  speeches,  Estelle  suddenly  won- 
ders as  to  the  life  of  the  man  who  now  holds  her  so 
firmly  in  his  grasp.  "  Is  he  a  Don  Giovanni  off  the 
stage  as  well  as  on  ?  "  He  has  this  day  at  times  been 
very  stern  to  her,  at  times  very  kind.  She  remembers 
his  touch  as  he  lifted  her  out  of  the  diligence  to  take  a 
little  stroll  at  the  last  posthouse,  scarce  an  hour  ago; 
how  he  had  run  many  errands  for  her  all  this  day  to 
increase  her  comfort.  She  sighs  to  herself :  "  These  are 
but  proofs  of  the  interest  of  a  padrone  in  his  bound-girl, 
one  who  must  dance  and  sing  and  show  her  graces  upon 
the  stage  to  put  money  in  his  purse."  Then,  some  curi- 
ous emotion  rising  in  her,  she  startles  herself  by  mut- 
tering :  "  Some  day  shall  I  be  a  feted  prima  donna,  and 
sing  with  him  like  this — this  Olinska,  whose  name  they 
link  with  his  ?  " 

But  a  man  outside  calls :  "  Cocker,  have  you  brought 
a  Paris  Figaro?"  And  this  poor  fugitive,  who  is  pro- 
claimed a  criminal  in  the  very  newspapers,  cowers  and 
shrinks  and  hides  her  head. 

A  moment  later,  the  horses  having  been  put  in  for 


78  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS, 

the  next  post,  the  two  men,  tossing  away  their  cigars, 
re-enter  the  coupe.  A  stable-boy  is  passing  with  a 
lighted  torch. 

" Ach  Gott!"  murmurs  the  Austrian.  "There  are 
tear  stains  upon  the  cheeks  of  your  little  Gretchen." 

"  Yes,  the  poor  child  only  left  her  home  two  days 
ago,"  says  Da  Messina  quietly,  and  he  wraps  the  robes 
quite  tenderly  about  the  reclining  figure. 

Apparently  this  soothes  her.  Tired  nature  brings 
relief  to  this  hunted  one,  who,  flying  from  prison,  has 
become  the  bound-girl  of  this  man.  She  gives  a  little 
sigh,  and  in  forgetfulness  is  happy.  Even  the  con- 
demned sleep  the  night  before  execution. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  VOICE  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Opening"  her  eyes  the  next  morning1  to  her  padrone's 
voice,  Estelle  discovers  that  during  the  night  they  have 
passed  Dijon,  for  the  bright  sun  is  shining  into  the 
diligence,  and  they  are  rolling  rapidly  between  stone- 
fenced  vineyards  toward  Chalons  sur  Saone,  where  a 
little  steamboat  is  waiting  to  carry  them  down  the 
waters  of  that  river  to  commercial  Lyons. 

Her  awakening  is  greeted  by  both  gentlemen  with  a 
bright  "  Good  morning !  " 

To  this  her  padrone  adds  in  kindly  tone :  "  Petite,  I 
hope  you  are  refreshed,"  announcing,  as  if  to  cheer 
her,  "  A  good  bed  in  Lyons  this  evening !  "  For  two 
nights'  lumbering  over  French  roads,  united  with  the 
anxieties  of  a  fugitive,  have  tinged  his  charge's  very 
youthful  face  with  a  pathetic  fatigue. 

This  adds  to  its  delicate  charm  as  she  greets  her  corn- 
pa  gnons  de  voyage  very  prettily,  giving  Captain  Ra- 
detzky  a  pleasant,  yet  demure,  bow,  and  placing  her 
hand  confidently  in  that  of  her  master,  who  is  removing 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  79 

the  robes  in  which  he  had  wrapped  his  charge  the  night 
before.  Their  eyes  meet — his  in  the  strength  of  com- 
plete government;  hers  drooping  before  his  glance,  as 
if  admitting  her  subjugation,  yet  appealing  for  his  pro- 
tection. 

Noting  this,  he  says,  reassuringly :  "  Courage,  Es- 
telle ;  we  will  soon  be  on  the  steamboat." 

"  Where  we  are  going  to  have  breakfast,"  mutters 
the  Austrian  officer,  who,  apparently,  has  not  only  a 
youthful  face,  but  a  youthful  appetite. 

Consequently,  some  few  minutes  after,  the  diligence 
drawing  up  near  the  river  at  Chalons,  Estelle  trips 
lightly,  beside  her  protector,  down  to  the  Saone,  which 
turbulent  stream,  swollen  by  big  storms  in  the  Vosges 
Mountains,  is  now  overflowing  its  banks. 

Standing  slightly  apart  from  the  crowd,  who  are 
struggling  over  the  gangplank  to  the  deck  of  the  little 
sidewheeled  steamer,  whose  paddle-boxes  bear  the  name 
"  Hirondelle,"  and  whose  wheels  every  now  and  then 
churn  the  muddy  water  of  the  current  into  a  yellow 
foam  in  order  to  hold  the  boat  to  its  moorings,  the  girl 
asks  a  question  that  since  the  evening  before  has  been 
on  her  mind.  She  indicates,  with  a  graceful  nod  of  her 
head,  the  young  Austrian,  who  already  has  gone  on 
shipboard,  and  whispers,  a  little  eagerness  in  her  voice : 
"  Do  you,  mio  padrone,  make  an  exception  to  your  new 
friend  in  your  general  direction  that  I  am  to  permit  no 
attentions  from  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly !  "  answers  Da  Messina.  "  Radetzky 
is  a  fine  fellow  and  a  man  of  honor.  Don't  think  me  an 
ogre.  Any  reasonable  liberty  that  I  can  give  you  to 
make  your  long  journey  more  agreeable  it  will  be  al- 
ways my  pleasure  to  grant." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  Now  I  know  how  to  treat  Radetz- 
ky," whispers  his  protegee. 

A  moment  after,  she  finds  herself  very  carefully  sup- 
ported by  a  strong  arm  across  the  slippery  gangplank 
to  the  deck  of  the  little  boat,  which  is  tugging  at  its 
moorings.  This  craft  is  a  long,  narrow,  iron  affair, 


8o  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

and  is  occupied  by  a  frangipanni  of  big  bales  of  freight, 
German  Jews,  barrels  of  wine,  French  viticulturalists, 
and  a  few  tourists,  English  and  American,  bound  for 
Switzerland  and  the  French  Riviera,  for  already  the 
threatened  political  complications  in  Venice  and  Milan 
have  turned  pleasure-seekers  from  Italian  travel. 

Here  Adrienne  finds  all  care  of  herself  taken  from 
her.  Her  padrone  leads  her  at  once  to  the  stewardess, 
and,  pressing  a  five-franc  piece  into  the  woman's  hand, 
tells  her  to  do  everything  she  can  for  mademoiselle. 

"  I  shall  reserve  a  place  at  the  breakfast  table  for  you, 
petite"  he  says.  "  Be  ready  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  That  I  will,"  she  replies,  blithely,  "  for  I  am  as 
hungry  as — as  Captain  Radetzky,"  favoring  the  Aus- 
trian, who  is  standing-  near,  with  a  little  smile. 

At  this  the  young  man  laughs :  "  Then  you  will  be 
sure  to  be  with  us  at  the  first  course." 

Five  minutes  afterward,  Estelle,  coming  into  the 
salon,  joins  the  gentlemen  at  the  table  d'hote.  Here, 
being  placed  in  a  chair  between  Da  Messina  and  the 
young  Austrian,  she  bites  her  lips  once  or  twice,  as 
she  finds  herself  still  treated  like  a  little  girl,  and  her 
breakfast  ordered  without  her  consultation.  However, 
she  enjoys  her  meal,  and  occasionally  joins  in  the  con- 
versation of  Radetzky  and  her  potentate.  A  good  deal 
of  this  is  upon  the  flooded  river,  for  everybody  at  the 
table  is  discussing  the  height  of  the  stream,  some  local 
passengers  giving  their  experiences  in  the  great  freshet 
of  1840,  when  Lyons  suffered  a  partial  inundation. 

"  Mille  tonnerres!  "  remarks  one.  "  The  Saone  is  the 
very  deuce  of  a  stream  to  drown,  not  only  lands,  but 
peasants.  God  help  anyone  it  catches  unawares !  " 

The  meal  being  over,  Carlo  takes  Estelle  out  on  the 
deck  to  look  at  the  rushing  river.  They  are  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream ;  the  current  is  a  very  rapid  one. 
The  usually  green  waters  of  the  Saone  are  muddy,  and 
the  boat  at  times  is  violently  swayed  by  the  turbulent 
current,  which  tells  of  a  great  rainfall  and  melting 
snows  in  the  Vosges  Mountains. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  8 1 

But  after  a  moment  Adrienne  gets  accustomed  to  the 
rush  of  the  waters,  and  listens  quite  interestedly  to  a 
musical  discussion  between  her  guardian  and  the  Aus- 
trian officer.  They  are  talking  of  the  triumphs  of  Jenny 
Lind,  who  is  now  the  reigning  European  prima  donna, 
and  Da  Messina  makes  his  protegee  happy  by  saying: 
"  Ah,  yes,  the  Swedish  nightingale !  Birdlike  voices 
are  now  the  rage.  My  apprentice  here,  I  have  already 
noticed,  has  a  linnet  voice.  Perhaps  some  day  she  will 
sing  in  '  La  Sonnambula '  and  '  Puritani.'  " 

At  this,  wonder  flames  in  his  apprentice's  expressive 
face.  She  stammers  :  "  What !  If" 

"  Why  not  ?  You  sang  your  scales  with  an  extremely 
pure  tone;  though  I  hardly  think  you  will  have  dra- 
matic force  enough  for  '  Norma '  or  '  Lucretia  Borgia.' " 

To  this  Adrienne  is  too  astounded  to  make  reply. 

But  Radetzky  laughs :  "  Well,  my  little  maid,  you 
will  have  an  open  field  in  a  year  or  two,  as  it  is  rumored 
that  the  Swedish  divtt,  who  is  now  enchanting  London, 
will  soon  go  to  far-away  America  in  search  of  Yankee 
dollars." 

But  the  hoarse  cries  of  the  captain  on  the  paddle- 
box  again  call  their  attention  to  their  voyage  down  the 
river. 

Adrienne  notes  that  now,  on  her  right  hand  and  far- 
ther to  the  south,  the  Lyonnais  hills  are  coming  into 
view,  though  the  low  meadows  are  flooded  on  either 
bank  of  the  Saone,  whose  turbulent  current  adds  to  the 
speed  of  their  boat  descending  the  river.  Moving  rapid- 
ly, they  approach  Trevoux,  but  here  navigation,  which 
is  difficult  in  ordinary  stages  of  the  water,  becomes 
more  intricate,  and  is  rendered  even  dangerous  by  a 
number  of  boats  drawn  by  horses  that  block  up  the 
channel  near  a  large  stone  quarry  on  the  right  bank. 

The  captain,  on  the  paddle-box,  is  hallooing  excited 
French  commands  to  the  helmsman,  for  they  seem  about 
to  run  down  one  or  two  of  these  barges. 

The  young  Austrian,  saying  lightly,  "  I'll  see  the 
affair,"  runs  forward.  In  the  immediate  bow  of  the 


82  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

boat  are  a  lot  of  freight-boxes  and  bales,  piled  so  high 
that  they  overhang  the  low  bulwarks.  Upon  these  Ra- 
detzky  climbs  rapidly. 

" Sacre  bleu!  Get  off  of  there!  "  interjects  the  cap- 
tain, between  some  hoarse  commands  to  the  pilot. 

But  Radetzky  has  no  time  to  heed  his  warning  be- 
fore they  come  heavily  in  contact  with  one  of  the  barges, 
and  the  shock  sends  the  young  man  overboard. 

At  this  there  is  a  scream  from  the  female  passengers 
and  a  howl  from  the  men.  In  their  excitement  they 
throw  toward  him  a  heavy  mahogany  chair,  which  dis- 
appears in  an  eddy,  and  a  cane  settee,  with  cast-iron 
kgs,  that  immediately  sinks. 

"  Mille  diables!  "  shrieks  the  French  captain.  "  Un- 
less he  can  swim  like  a  duck,  the  Emperor  of  Austria 
has  lost  a  soldier !  " 

His  words  seem  true,  for,  though  fortunately  carried 
away  from  the  paddle-wheels  by  a  rapid  swirl  of  the 
current,  the  young  man  is  left  far  behind  the  rapidly 
moving  steamboat,  that  has  disengaged  itself  from  the 
slightly  damaged  barge,  and  is  now  paddling  down- 
stream. 

"  Mon  Dieu!    Save  him !  "  cries  Adrienne,  excitedly. 

"Diavolo!"  mutters  the  Italian.  "He  will  surely, 
drown.  He  is  as  a  baby  in  the  water." 

The  girl's  hurried  glance  at  the  face  of  her  padrone 
catches  a  curious  exultation  in  it.  Perchance  he  is 
thinking :  "  Here's  one  less  sword  pointed  at  the  breast 
of  Italy." 

But,  half  a  second  after,  pity  comes  into  Da  Mes- 
sina's eyes  as  he  watches  the  unavailing  but  gallant 
struggles  of  the  young  Austrian,  who,  though  he  has 
strength  and  courage,  has  no  skill  in  the  water;  and 
it  would  take  a  strong  swimmer  to  carry  himself  suc- 
cessfully in  the  flooded  Saone. 

The  next  minute  Estelle  falters  :  "  Oh,  mercy !  You 
—you  are  going —  For  Da  Messina  is  tossing  off 

his  coat  and  hastily  removing  his  boots. 

Then  her  scream  rings  out  clear  and  shrill  over  the 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  83 

noise  of  clanging  engines,  as  this  man,  whose  fetters 
she  wears,  dives  from  the  stern  of  the  boat  and  disap- 
pears for  a  moment  in  the  swirling  waters. 

"  Diable !  The  Italian  idiot !  "  shrieks  the  captain. 
"  There  are  now  two  fools  to  drown !  " 

To  the  anxious  eyes  of  the  girl,  standing  trembling 
almost  like  a  child,  this  seems  to  be  the  case,  though 
to  an  expert,  the  Italian  would  seem  a  veritable  merman, 
as  he  buffets  the  strong  current,  and,  with  the  confi- 
dent stroke  of  an  exceedingly  powerful  swimmer,  fights 
his  way  toward  the  struggling  Austrian. 

But  the  engines  are  still  revolving.  The  boat  rapidly 
turns  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river,  and  the  struggling  mer- 
man is  seen  no  more.  Suddenly  Adrienne  starts — to  her 
affrighted  eyes  everything  grows  dark.  This  man — her 
tyrant,  yet  her  protector — is  no  more  by  her  side;  she 
is  alone !  She  has  even  lost  her  former  identity,  which 
she  can  not  regain  without  surrendering  herself  to  the 
pursuing  police  as  a  criminal,  self-condemned  by  an 
attempted  escape.  Her  money  is  in  this  man's  posses- 
sion. In  case  of  his  death,  even  that  would  go  to  his 
relatives.  She  is  penniless,  as  well  as  helpless. 

But  now  she  recollects  the  care  this  man  had  given 
her;  that  his  touch  had  been  tender  as  he  wrapped 
her  up  from  the  cold;  that  he  had  sat  awake  think- 
ing for  her  safety,  while  she  had  slept ;  that,  though 
he  has  demanded  implicit  obedience,  he  has  given,  if 
not  tenderness,  at  least  protection.  So  his  bound-girl, 
standing  on  the  deck  of  the  swaying  boat,  listening  to 
the  shouts  of  the  French  sailors,  begins  to  weep  for 
the  Italian  padrone  who  had  forced  her  to  give  herself 
into  his  dominion. 

"For  whom  are  you  blubbering?"  asks  a  woman 
standing  near  her.  "  For  the  young  Austrian  officer,  or 
the  Italian  ?  " 

"  For — for  the  Italian,  my  padrone,  who — who  is 
drowned,"  sighs  the  disconsolate  girl,  wiping  her 
dimmed  eyes  with  a  handkerchief  she  has  carelessly 


84  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

taken  from  the  pocket  of  this  dress  unused  since  con- 
vent days. 

"  Ah !  Then  don't  go  to  Italy,  for  they  will  sell  your 
contract,  and  that  means  you,  little  one.  I  know  about 
such  things.  I  have  been  wardrobe  woman  of  a  theater 
in  Naples.  So  you  take  my  ad'rice,"  remarks  her 
counselor,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

Then,  as  Adrienne  looks  despairingly  out  over  the 
rushing  waters,  her  adviser  suddenly  gives  a  start,  and 
mutters :  "  This  bound-girl  must  have  seen  better 
times — Mademoiselle  is  an  aristocrat.  Sacre,  there's  a 
coronet  upon  that  nice  lace  handkerchief  of  hers !  " 
And  the  envy  of  the  mob  against  blue  blood  comes 
into  the  heart  of  the  woman  of  the  people. 

But  now  the  shouts  from  the  captain  on  the  paddle- 
box  become  joyous.  With  Gallic  seamanship  he  has 
at  last  thought  of  reversing  the  engines,  and  the  boat 
is  now  stationary  on  the  flood.  Then  Adrienne  gives 
a  little  fluttering  cry.  Gaining  upon  it  at  every  stroke, 
Da  Messina  comes  into  sight,  swimming  stoutly,  while 
Radetzky,  still  cool  and  collected,  rests  his  left  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  his  preserver,  who  is  now  rapidly 
(approaching  the  boat. 

With  excited,  happy  eyes,  the  girl  flies  to  the  gang- 
way. As  the  young  Austrian  is  pulled  upon  deck,  the 
first  hand  extended  to  him  is  the  beautiful  one  of  Adri- 
enne. She  says  :  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  "  But  when  the 
Italian,  with  stout  hand,  pulls  himself  on  board,  look- 
ing at  him  with  streaming  eyes,  she  mutters :  "  Oh,  if 
you  had  died !  " 

" Diavolo,  little  one!  I  thought  of  that,  and  would 
not  have  jumped  overboard,  only  1  knew  that  I  would 
live.  That  plunge  was  a  mere  bagatelle  to  one  who,  as 
a  boy,  lived  half  in  the  water,  by  the  shore  of  the 
Bay  of  Naples,  and,  as  a  young  man,  played  in  the 
Mediterranean,  day  after  day,  with  the  strong  swim- 
mers of  the  Island  of  Malta.  And  so  you  feared  for 
me  ?  "  His  dark  eyes  search  her  mobile  face. 

"  Oh,  so  much !    I " 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  85 

"  Thank  you,  child.  But,  with  your  permission,  I 
will  go  to  the  cabin  with  my  Austrian  friend.  The 
water  is  cold,  and  a  glass  of  brandy  will  do  me  no 
harm." 

Patting  his  protegee's  brown  locks  with  dripping 
hand,  Carlo  steps  after  the  man  he  has  saved,  and,  two 
or  three  minutes  after,  puts  his  head,  which  he  is  rub- 
bing with  a  towel,  out  of  the  cabin  window,  and  laughs : 
"  Don't  fear,  petite,  though  I  am  going  to  disappear 
again.  Captain  Radetzky  and  I  are  for  the  cook's  gal- 
ley to  dry  our  clothes." 

And,  waiting  for  him,  Adrienne,  who  now  feels 
more  than  ever  what  his  loss  would  be  to  her,  mut- 
ters :  "  Holy  Virgin !  //  I  had  been  left  alone !  This 
proves  that  I  am  indeed  his  property." 

Even  as  she  says  this,  malicious  words  come  to  her 
that  give  her  an  awful  shock. 

"  Venire  bleu!  You  are  the  first  girl  I  ever  saw 
happy  at  getting  her  padrone  back !  But  you  are  such 
a  pretty  tit-bit !  Oh — ah !  Doubtless  he  gives  you 
more  kisses  than  blows." 

As  these  words  are  chuckled  into  her  ear,  Adrienne 
shudders,  her  face  grows  deathly  pale,  and  she  stag- 
gers from  the  property  woman  of  the  Naples  theater. 
"  If — if  I  thought  that,"  she  gasps,  to  herself,  "  I'd 
let  them  take  me  back  to  Paris,  or  jump  into  this 
river.  But  she's  a  bad  woman,  and  he — he — is " 

She  trembles  and  stammers  at  the  thought  of  meet- 
ing her  padrone;  the  suggestion  has  been  an  awful 
one  to  her. 

But  as  her  dictator  shortly  after  strolls  to  her,  in 
smoking  clothes  that  suggest  a  very  hasty  drying,  her 
eyes,  catching  his  glance,  grow  relieved. 

With  him  comes  the  young  officer,  who,  gazing  upon 
his  preserver,  warmly  remarks :  "  You  saved  my  life, 
even  though  I  am  an  Austrian.  Our  countries  may 
fight,  but  we  at  least  shall  be  friends." 

He  extends  an  eager  hand,  which  is  clasped  by  the 
Italian.  So  the  three  stand  together,  as  the  boat,  com- 


86  <fci>RIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

ing  rapidly  down  the  Saone,  passes  the  Ile-Barbe,  and, 
darting  under  numerous  bridges,  lands  them  at  the 
Quai  de  Tilsit. 

As  Da  Messina  holds  out  his  hand  to  help  his  ward 
ashore,  he  glances  sharply  at  her  face,  and  whispers : 
"  You  have  something  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I " 

"  Oh,  don't  try  to  deny  it."  His  tone  is  imperative. 
"  As  I  turned  my  head  away  I  saw  that  woman  whis- 
per to  you.  You  must  tell  me  her  words." 

Gazing  at  him,  his  bound-girl's  face  becomes  red  as 
the  setting  sun. 

Da  Messina  gives  a  hasty  glance  at  the  ex-wardrobe 
mistress  of  the  Naples  theater,  who  is  stepping  over 
the  gangplank,  and,  leading  Estelle  a  little  aside  where 
two  big  piles  of  bales  and  barrels  upon  the  quay  give 
them  privacy,  and  the  rumble  of  the  passing  vehicles 
of  busy  Lyons  drowns  their  voices,  he  whispers  :  "  You 
must  tell  me." 

"  I — please  don't  ask  me !  " 

"  Quick !    Seconds  are  important." 

"  You  think  it  is  vital  ?  "  asks  his  charge,  gazing  at 
him  astonished. 

"  In  our  position  everything,  anything,  may  be  vital 
to  you  and  me.  Quick — tell  me !  "  The  intensity  of  his 
manner  forces  her  confidence. 

Her  face  grows  very  pale,  then  red  as  fire.  But, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  as  if  to  discern  how 
the  suggestion  affects  him,  under  her  breath,  falter- 
ingly,  yet  resolutely,  Estelle  tells  him  the  awful  sug- 
gestion of  the  ex-wardrobe  mistress  of  the  Naples 
theater. 

His  very  manner  of  receiving  it  gives  her  relief. 

"  Diavolo!  "  he  laughs,  as  she  finishes.  "  I  thought 
the  woman  some  accursed  Austrian  agent,  trying  to 
pump  you  about  me.  Forget  that  miserable' s  words. 
In  truth,  my  knowledge  of  this  padrone  business  has 
so  far  been  that  of  an  onlooker.  You  are  the  first  who 
has  ever  come  under  my  rule.  Pergolese  makes  money 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  87 

by  his  own  voice — not  by  the  voices  of  others,"  he  adds, 
proudly. 

"  I — I  am  your  first  bound-girl?  "  stammers  Estelle, 
a  strange  contentment  in  her  voice. 

Perchance  catching  this,  he  jeers  lightly:  "More 
kisses  than  blows,  the  woman  said !  "  then  adds,  some- 
what sadly :  "  To  you,  I  suppose  I  must  always  be  a 
taskmaster.  You  had  better  hate  me  for  severity  than 
think  too  well  of  me  for  being  kind." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  Don't  say  that,"  she  dissents,  in 
broken  voice. 

As  she  moves  impulsively,  he  catches  the  graceful 
lines  of  her  figure,  and  thinks  what  her  developing 
beauty  will  become. 

"  Cospetto,  don't  contradict  me,  child !  "  he  mutters, 
as  if  restraining  himself.  His  mien  grows  command- 
ing, his  voice  stern,  as  he  crushes  her  with :  "  Look 
upon  me  always  as  your  tyrant !  "  Then  his  tone 
changes ;  he  says,  lightly :  "  But  come  along,  petite. 
Radetzky  is  waiting  to  bid  us  adieu." 

A  moment  after,  upon  the  open  quay,  they  join  the 
young  officer,  who  fervidly  embraces  his  preserver,  say- 
ing, eagerly :  "  I  shall  not  leave  by  diligence  till  Mon- 
day morning.  Why  don't  you  come  to  the  same  hotel 
with  me,  the  De  L'Europe  ?  " 

"  With  Estelle  under  my  wing,  I  prefer  quieter  and 
cheaper  quarters.  Dine  with  me  to-morrow  at  the  Ta- 
rascon,"  replies  the  cavaliere. 

"  Certainly.  Only  to-night  you  must  sup  with  me. 
Mein  Gott,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  stout  arm,  I  would 
this  evening  have  fed  fishes  instead  of  you,  my  friend !  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replies  Da  Messina,  who,  to 
Adrienne,  seems  anxious  to  increase  his  intimacy  with 
the  Austrian.  "  In  addition,  suppose  you,  and  my 
charge  and  I,  if  it  is  pleasant,  take  to-morrow  after- 
noon a  Sunday  jaunt,  and  see  the  sights  at  the  Obser- 
vatory ?  " 

"  Agreed !  "  cries  the  Viennese.  "  And  thanks,  also, 
to  you,  my  little  friend,"  he  adds,  "for  your  welcoming 


88  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

hand  and  anxious  eyes  when  I  was  pulled  on  board 
again." 

He  raises  his  hat  to  Estelle,  who  returns  his  salute 
very  prettily,  as  her  governor  calls  a  carriage,  and  or- 
ders :  "  Hotel  Tarascon,  quick !  " 

A  second  later,  Madame  la  Baronne  finds  herself 
placed  in  the  vehicle,  Da  Messina  quickly  taking  a  seat 
beside  her.  As  they  drive  off,  she  can  not  help  blush- 
ing at  the  intimacy  her  station  gives  him.  Her  pa- 
drone's occupying  a  closed  carriage  en  tete-cL-tete  with 
her  seems  a  matter  of  course  both  to  him  and  to  the 
Austrian. 

Suddenly  he  startles  her  with :  "  Were  you  wiping 
your  eyes  on  the  steamboat  with  that  handkerchief,  with 
the  tell-tale  coronet  upon  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !  It — it  must  have  been  in  this  pocket 
for  years,"  stammers  his  protegee.  In  my  agitation  for 
you,  1 — I  thought  you  were  drowned.  Pardon  me !  " 

"  And  you  were  sorry,  pauvrette,  that  I "  Carlo 

checks  himself  shortly,  then  mutters:  " Maladetto!  If 
anyone  noticed  it,  this  may  be  very  unfortunate." 

He  knits  his  brows  in  concentrated  thought  till  they 
are  in  the  courtyard  of  the  old-fashioned  Hotel  Taras- 
con, where  the  young  widow  is  soon  to  be  thoroughly 
appalled  at  the  easy  familiarity  of  padrone  to  ap- 
prentice. 

The  Hotel  Tarascon  is  a  little  hostelry  in  the  heart 
of  the  business  portion  of  Lyons,  near  the  Rue  Cen- 
trale.  It  is  kept  by  a  certain  Signora  Annina,  who  had 
once  been  a  prima  danseuse  in  half  the  capitals  of  Eu- 
rope, and  now,  having  grown  obese,  has  taken  for  her 
helpmate  a  well-known  Italian  chef,  Brisco  by  name. 
This  artist's  cooking  being  good,  the  place  is  well  fre- 
quented by  the  Italian  colony  of  Lyons. 

The  fat  face  of  their  hostess  welcomes  them  at  the 
entrance.  She  cries,  "  Carlo,  you  boy,  I  expected  you !  " 
and  hands  him  a  letter ;  then  goes  effusively  on :  "  The 
sight  of  you  makes  me  young  again.  I  can  remember 
the  last  time  I  danced  at  La  Scala."  And  commands 


ADRIENNE    DE   PORTALIS.  89 

one  or  two  white  aproned  attendants  :  "  The  best  rooms 
in  the  house  for  the  best  voice  in  Italy !  "  But,  gazing  a 
little  farther  into  the  carriage,  she  ejaculates:  "Oho! 
This  is  the  apprentice  you  wrote  about ! " 

"  Of  course !  "  replies  the  tenor,  dexterously  avoid- 
ing a  maternal  kiss  from  the  fat,  old  lady.  "  Estelle, 
Signora  Brisco  will  take  good  care  of  you,"  deftly 
gaining  his  hostess's  good  offices  for  his  charge  by 
whispering :  "  I  shall  have  to  consult  you  in  regard 
to  her,  Annina." 

" Certo!"  answers  the  ex-ballerina.  "Come  along, 
my  child,  with  the  staid  old  landlady,  who  once  had 
nobles  at  her  feet." 

As  she  speaks,  they  ascend  a  flight  of  broad,  stone 
steps,  and  Estelle  is  led  into  the  suite  that  has  been 
assigned  to  her  padrone.  It  consists  of  a  big  parlor 
and  three  other  rooms.  The  brick  floor  of  the  first  is 
made  comfortable  by  rugs,  and  its  large  windows 
are  ornamented  by  draperies.  A  fire  has  been  hastily 
kindled  in  the  great  open  fireplace.  One  diagonal 
corner  of  it  opens  into  the  private  apartment  of  her 
maestro. 

A  startled  timidity  flies  through  her  as  the  landlady 
points  to  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  parlor,  and 
announces :  "  There  is  your  little  chamber,  petite.  She 
will  be  quite  under  your  eye,  cavaliere,"  babbles  the 
woman.  "  No  running  out,  except  she  passes  your 
door." 

But,  Da  Messina  glancing  over  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
knits  his  brow,  and  says,  shortly :  "  I  have  important 
business,  so  I  will  leave  Estelle  in  your  charge,  Signora 
Brisco.  See  that  she  has  everything  she  wants,  and  a 
nice  little  dinner." 

Drawing  his  apprentice  aside,  he  whispers :  "  This 
letter  tells  me  I  shall  have  to  stay  at  least  three  days 
in  Lyons." 

Then,  turning  to  his  hostess,  who  has  been  occu- 
pied in  stirring  up  the  fire  and  opening  a  piano,  which 
stands  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  he  suggests :  "  This 


90  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

child's  wardrobe  is  very  defective.  Replenish  her  cos- 
tumes. Bring  the  bills  to  me.  This  must  be  done 
immediately." 

"  Ghieu ! "  remarks  the  woman.  "  But  I  can  get 
her  simple  frocks  in  quick  order.  I  have  two  sewing- 
girls  in  the  house." 

"  See  that  her  outfit  is  complete,"  says  Da  Messina, 
sharply.  "  Only  make  her  wardrobe  plain,  youthful, 
and  girlish." 

"  Won't  I  ?  With  her  bright  face,  all  I  have  to  do  is 
to  take  those  hideous  bags  from  around  her  ankles  and 
she  will  be  an  infant !  "  cries  La  Brisco,  with  a  grin. 
"  But  en  avant,  petite." 

With  this  she  shows  the  fugitive  into  a  cozy  little 
bedroom,  which  contains  a  pretty,  white  cot,  where,  an 
hour  after,  Madame  la  Baronne  finds  a  pleasant  little 
dinner  served  by  her  hostess  in  person,  who  probably 
has  had  some  further  instructions  from  Da  Messina. 

"  I've  brought  a  dressmaker  with  me,  so  after  din- 
ner we  will  get  to  work,"  she  says.  "  To-morrow 
morning  you  breakfast  with  your  padrone." 

Some  few  hours  after  this,  night  has  come  upon 
Lyons.  Finding  herself  very  tired,  the  white  cot  looks 
inviting  to  Estelle.  She  timidly,  hesitatingly,  and 
slowly  undresses  and  steps  toward  the  bed. 

Suddenly,  some  new  emotion  flying  through  her,  she 
runs  hastily  to  her  bedroom  door  to  lock  it. 

But  discovering  no  key,  her  face  grows  agitated. 
She  falters :  "  I  am  to  be  here — in  this  man's  apart- 
ments— every  night,  under  his  eye — under  his  hand ! 
Verily  my  bondage  throws  down  the  barriers  of  society 
betwixt  me  and  he  who  holds  me." 

Then  to  her  acute  ears  comes  the  sound  of  the  big 
door  opening  from  the  corridor  upon  their  parlor.  She 
recognizes  her  master's  step. 

A  bashful  terror  comes  upon  her.  She  begins  to 
tremble.  Blushes  fly  in  waves  over  her  anxious  face. 
She  stands,  shrinking,  draped  in  her  white  robe  de  nuit, 
whose  sheer  muslin  outlines  the  graces  of  her  fairt 


ADRTENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  $1 

young  form.  Were  it  not  for  the  throbbing  of  her 
heart,  upheaving  the  laces  on  her  snowy  bosom,  she 
would  be  like  a  statue  of  affrighted  modesty.  Suddenly 
there  is  the  sound  of  a  turning  key  and  clicking  bolt. 
She  knows  she  is  locked  in  now  with  this  man  whom 
she  has  rashly  given  such  power  over  her. 

His  step  is  coming  toward  her  door!  She  looks 
about  as  if  to  fly,  but  knows  she  has  no  place  of 
refuge. 

But,  doing  this,  she  starts  again.  Her  senses  seem 
confused ;  entrancing  strains  float  all  about  her.  A 
noble  voice  breaks  in  upon  her,  passionate,  romantic, 
dominant.  She  murmurs,  "  Dio,  how  beautiful !  "  and, 
forgetting  even  the  terror  of  modesty,  stands  listening, 
for  it  is  the  first  time  she  has  heard  the  voice  of  her 
maestro  uplifted  in  glorious  melody.  Accompanying 
himself  upon  the  piano,  he  is  singing  Aubers  song 
of  Masaniello,  those  impassioned  strains  in  which  the 
Naples  fisherman  cried  out  to  his  fellows  of  the  sea 
beach  and  market  place  to  rise  against  their  tyrants. 

Listening,  she  knows  that  it  is  the  voice  not  only 
of  a  patriot,  but  of  a  conspirator  that  puts  wild  pas- 
sion and  almost  savage  ferocity,  yet  withal  noble 
courage  into  the  grand  music  that  thrills  her  heart. 
Suddenly  it  dies  away.  A  moment  later  she  hears 
hoarsely  muttered :  "  Thank  God,  at  last  it  is  time  to 
strike !  "  And  to  her,  in  great  sighs,  comes :  "  My 
brother,  whom  the  Austrians  killed  at  Padua,  because 
he  sung  his  student's  song  of  liberty,  if  you  were  but 
here  to  strike  with  me !  Marco !  My  Marco !  " 

And  this  tyrant  she  fears  staggers  into  his  own 
room,  sobbing  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 

"  Fool  that  I  was  to  think  that  this  man,  with  great 
things  upon  his  mind,  would  sully  his  patriot  hands 
by  doing  an  ignoble  act !  "  she  jeers.  Then,  a  strange, 
pathetic  archness  coming  in  her  voice,  she  murmurs : 
"  He  thinks  not  enough  of  me  to  even  say  good  night." 

So,  with  a  little  plaintive  pout,  but  with  her  mind 
relieved,  Estelle  steps  into  her  little  cot,  and,  nestling 


92  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

down  in  its  pillows,  places  her  round,  white  arms  wear- 
ily over  her  brown  tresses,  and  so  goes  to  sleep,  won- 
dering in  a  dreamy  way  whether  the  world  is  turned 
upside  down.  At  all  events,  she  knows  she  is ! 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  WE  MUST  STRIKE,  BEFORE  THE  FLOWERS  BLOOM  !  " 

About  eleven  o'clock  next  morning,  as  Da  Messina 
is  sitting  before  his  breakfast  table  in  their  parlor,  his 
charge  comes  tripping  in  from  her  chamber,  and,  giving 
him  a  formal  courtesy,  murmurs :  "  Good  morning,  mio 
padrone." 

Madame  la  Baronne  is  looking  very  pretty  and  very 
bashful,  perchance  because  she  feels  decidedly  en  fa- 
mille  with  this  handsome  gentleman,  who  sits  in  a 
jaunty,  well-braided  smoking  jacket,  and  that  evidence 
of  domestic  privacy,  a  comfortable  pair  of  slippers.  In 
addition,  she  is  slightly  ill  at  ease  in  the  new  frock  which 
La  Brisco  has  had  made  for  her  overnight.  It  is  a 
simple,  brown  costume,  quite  graceful  and  very  girlish ; 
for,  with  a  professional  love  of  freedom  for  the  lower 
limbs,  the  signora  has  had  its  skirt  cut  an  inch  or  two 
shorter  than  the  one  in  which  Adrienne  had  traveled, 
and  also  removed  from  the  young  lady's  ankles  what 
the  ex-ballerina  calls  the  two  hideous  bags.  There- 
fore Madame  la  Baronne's  graces  are  more  en  evidence 
to  her  master,  her  slippered  feet  and  beautifully  mould- 
ed ankles  being  in  the  full  display  of  girlhood. 

"  You  are  rather  late,  and  apparently  not  very  hun- 
gry, petite,"  remarks  the  cavaliere,  as  he  acknowledges 
her  salute. 

"  Oh,  yes !  But  I  had  been  out  at  mass  with  the 
signora.  You  don't  object  to  that,  do  you?" 

"  To  your  religion?  Not  at  all.  Would  that  I  were 
a  better  churchman !  But  sit  down,"  he  says,  cordially. 
"  It  is  our  first  breakfast  en  tete-a-tete" 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  93 

"  Cospetto! "  interjects  their  landlady,  who  has  .come 
in  with  the  meal  in  person.  "  If  Estejle  were  a  few 
years  older,  one  might  think  it  a  honeymoon  affair !  " 
And  she  goes  chuckling  out,  leaving  embarrassment  be- 
hind her. 

The  padrone  has  rather  a  quizzical  smile  on  his  face  ; 
the  young  widow  is  bending  a  very  blushing  head  over 
her  plate. 

"  Permit  me  to  offer  you  some  omelet,"  says  the  gen- 
tleman, suavely. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  murmurs  his  pupil,  her  face  a 
little  turned  from  his. 

"And  a  roll?" 

"  Whatever  you  think  best.  You've  selected  my  re- 
pasts very  nicely  for  me  ever  since  I  came  under  your 
rule,"  she  answers,  giving  him  a  shy,  yet  grateful, 
glance,  adding,  hurriedly :  "  Let  me  do  something  for 
you." 

"  I  don't  see  anything,"  he  laughs,  running  his  eyes 
over  the  breakfast  table.  "  The  meal  seems  to  be  a 
good  one." 

"  I — I  could  pour  out  your  coffee  for  you,"  she  sug- 
gests, impulsively.  "  I — I  always  did  it  for  my  hus- 
band," and  pauses  astounded  at  the  effect  upon  her 
maestro. 

A  frown  ripples  his  face,  then  he  looks  coldly  at  her, 
and  commands,  sternly :  "Have  I  not  forbidden  you  to 
speak  of  that  old  man?  Your  past  is  dead." 

"  You — you  make  it  a  blank,"  she  pouts. 

"  It  must  be,  to  save  you." 

He  passes  over  to  her  the  Journal  de  Lyons,  in  which 
Estelle  sees  her  old  name — the  name  she  is  trying  to 
forget — in  big  letters,  with  some  headlines  beneath  it 
that  make  her  shudder. 

"  I — I  see.    You  are  right,"  she  assents. 

"  You  observe,"  he  returns,  "  they  haven't  guessed  so 
very  far  from  us.  A  rumor  says  the  criminal  has  fled 
with  one  of  her  lovers  en  route  to  Italy." 


94  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS. 

"  O-o-oh !  "  With  a  half  sob  of  embarrassment,  his 
pupil  hides  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  But  fortunately  they  are  not  quite  sure  of  the  ex- 
act route,"  he  continues,  philosophically.  "  They  have 
traced  the  fair  fugitive  as  far  as  Montereau,  but  at  that 
point  are  in  doubt.  You  see  that  evening  a  lady  and 
gentleman  on  horseback  left  that  town,  going  toward 
Montargis.  But  that  clew  will  be  worked  out  very 
shortly.  This  paper  hints  that  the  officers  will  await 
Madame  la  Baronne  at  Marseilles," 

"  Then— then  I  am  lost !  " 

"  Not  at  all,  if  you  are  sufficiently  circumspect.  I  am 
sorry  I  spoiled  your  breakfast,"  adds  Da  Messina,  who 
apparently  has  a  very  good  appetite.  Then  he  con- 
tinues, in  cautious  voice :  "  Only  absolute,  untiring  vig- 
ilance will  get  you  out  of  France.  To-morrow  evening 
I  have  made  arrangements  for  you  to  sign  your  inden- 
ture to  me.  It  may  be  necessary  to  show  this  document 
at  any  time." 

"  You  don't  think  there  is  any  immediate  danger  ?  " 
she  queries,  uneasily. 

"  Not  if  you  are  very  careful." 

Encouraged  by  these  words,  Estelle,  whose  face  has 
grown  pale,  now  contrives  to  make  a  better  ending  to 
the  meal  than  her  beginning. 

"  In  order  to  have  everything  en  regie,  you  must  be, 
in  word  and  deed,  my  apprentice,"  observes  Da  Mes- 
sina. "  The  people  in  this  hotel  must  hear  you  prac- 
ticing your  music  under  my  direction.  The  harsh 
words  of  a  stern  master,  coming  to  the  curious  ears 
of  passers-by  in  yonder  corridor,  perchance  at  times, 
punctuated  by  a  little  sob  from  careless  pupil,  will  re- 
move every  doubt  that  thy  padrone  is  berating  his  ap- 
prentice. To-morrow  morning  we  begin  work ! "  Then 
he  adds,  in  more  kindly  tone,  to  Estelle,  who  has  a 
shade  of  anxiety  upon  her  delicate  face :  "  Now,  petite, 
you  have  just  time  to  get  ready  for  our  little  trip  across 
the  Saone.  You  remember  I  made  the  appointment 
yesterday  with  our  Austrian  friend."  His  voice  hesi- 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  95 

tates  a  little  on  the  last  word.  "  You  would  like 
to  go?" 

"  Oh,  very  much !  " 

"  Then  run  away,  and  get  On  your  things.  Wrap 
up  well,  for  the  day  is  brisk,  though  the  sun  is  bright." 

And  she  tripping  to  her  chamber,  he  gazes  after  her, 
and  murmurs :  "  I  am  afraid  I  frightened  my  pro- 
tegee; "  then  mutters,  shortly,  "  but  it  is  best  we  are 
only  master  and  apprentice,"  and  departs  to  make  his 
own  toilet. 

A  few  minutes  afterward,  the  young  Austrian  com- 
ing into  their  apartment,  Da  Messina  greets  him  cor- 
dially ;  then  calls  out :  "  Are  you  ready  for  our  little 
excursion,  Estelle  ?  " 

And  his  ward  entering,  a  short,  brown,  childish  wrap 
about  her  dainty  figure,  and  a  dark  hat  upon  the  bands 
of  her  wavy  hair,  Captain  Radetzky  opens  his  eyes  at 
the  pretty  sight,  and  observes :  "  Mademoiselle  is  re- 
covered from  the  fatigues  of  the  journey,  I  see !  " 

"  As  you  have  from  your  ducking,  I  hope,  Monsieur 
le  Capitaine,"  she  answers  brightly,  as  she  returns  his 
bow  with  a  demure  little  courtesy. 

Five  minutes  after,  they  make  their  way  through  two 
or  three  rather  narrow  and  dirty  unsidewalked  streets, 
and  come  to  the  Saone,  which,  though  falling,  is  still 
in  flood. 

Here,  crossing  the  Pont  du  Change,  they  arrive  at 
that  strange,  little  street,  lined  with  dirty  shops  con- 
taining religious  pictures,  relics,  curios,  and  effigies  in 
wax  and  tallow,  which  leads  up  to  the  heights  of 
Fourvieres.  They  have  all  been  walking  together,  Es- 
telle chatting  quite  blithely  with  the  Austrian;  but 
here,  the  way  being  contracted,  Da  Messina  says: 
"  Run  ahead  of  us,  child." 

At  her  guardian's  gesture,  his  charge  trips  up  the 
steep  ascent  before  the  gentlemen,  making  a  very  girl- 
ish, yet  alluring,  picture. 

The  Austrian's  eyes  follow  her  closely.  He  remarks 
admiringly :  "  You  have  quite  a  prize  in  your  appren- 


96  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

tice,  my  dear  Pergolese.  Did  you  notice  her  rather  ma- 
ture, yet  bitter,  remark  about  the  position  of  a  widow 
in  France?  Your  protegee,  if  she  has  as  fine  a  voice  as 
she  has  mind,  will  make  a  great  success." 

"  Humph — yes !  Still,  she  is  a  great  responsibility," 
answers  Da  Messina,  noting,  with  clouded  brow,  that 
some  admiring  tourists  and  a  man,  in  the  uniform  of 
one  of  the  Lyons  steamboats,  have  placed  their  eyes 
upon  his  ward,  whose  diffidence  under  public  comment 
seems  to  make  her  attractive  to  onlookers. 

"  Well,  she  appears  as  modest  as  she  is  pretty.  If 
she  has  talent,  her  indenture  papers  should  be  worth 
quite  a  sum  to  you,"  remarks  Radetzky. 

"  Diavolo!  I  think  she  has  both  voice  and  ability," 
returns  the  cavaliere,  decidedly. 

"  The  little  maiden  seemed  to  have  a  good  heart  and 
plenty  of  sympathy  in  her  soul  when  she  greeted  us 
as  we  escaped  drowning.  You  must  do  great  things 
for  her,  Pergolese,  and — Mein  Himmel! — I  will  help 
you  do  it !  " 

With  this  he  makes  a  proposition  to  his  friend  which 
causes  Da  Messina  to  open  his  eyes ;  but,  catching  sight 
of  the  beautiful  creature,  who,  having  reached  the  top 
of  the  ascent,  is  now  outlined  against  the  blue  sky,  he 
answers :  "  Thank  you  for  wishing  to  do  so  much  for 
her,  but  I  can  not  consent.  I  value  her  too  highly." 

The  last  of  these  words  drift  to  Estelle,  as  she  stands 
upon  the  hill  of  Fourvieres.  A  tinge  of  embarrassment 
ripples  her  mobile  features,  for  she  guesses  they  refer 
to  her.  Suddenly  she  starts,  and  forgets  all  save  the 
magnificent  scene  before  her. 

At  her  feet  is  Lyons,  the  main  portion  of  the  city  me- 
dieval in  its  crowded  houses  and  narrow  streets  till  it 
reaches  the  green  lime  trees  of  the  Place  Bellecour.  The 
sun  is  shining  on  the  two  rivers — the  flashing  Saone 
and  the  more  stately  Rhone — which  once  bounded  the 
town,  but  now  intersect  it.  Beyond  these  is  a  great 
valley,  drifting  away,  in  one  immense  level  plateau, 
toward  the  east,  to  become,  in  the  far  distance,  an 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  97 

indistinct  haze.  But,  above  this  seeming  horizon,  rise, 
peak  after  peak,  and  rampart  after  rampart,  the  far- 
away Alps,  while,  like  a  great  white  cloud  of  heaven, 
above  them  all,  towers,  grand  and  magnificent,  the 
best-known  mountain  upon  this  earth. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  says,  shading  her  eyes,  for  the 
sun,  gleaming  upon  it,  makes  it  almost  dazzling. 

"  Mont  Blanc,  petite,"  answers  her  guardian,  who 
now  stands  beside  her. 

''  Beyond  that  snow-line,"  cries  the  Austrian,  "  is 
Milan,  where,  I  hope,  il  Cavaliere  da  Messina  and  I 
will  have  many  a  pleasant  evening  together.  You  re- 
member, my  dear  Pergolese,  you  promised  me  a  pre- 
sentation to  the  reigning  prima  donna.  Some  evening 
we  will  arrange  a  petit  souper,  graced  by  la  belle 
Olinska,  eh,  mon  ami?  " 

Starting  at  the  name,  Estelle,  gazing  at  her  padrone, 
notes  that  he  makes  no  immediate  reply.  Then,  ap- 
parently controlling  himself,  the  Italian  says  slowly: 
"  We  shall  always  be  good  friends.  You,  I  presume, 
Captain  Radetzky,  go  to  Italy  by  Switzerland  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to-morrow !  Come  with  me !  "  cries  the  young 
officer,  earnestly.  "  It  is  the  nearest  way,"  he  urges. 

"  But  I  dread  winter's  snows  for  this  young  girl," 
answers  the  tenor.  "  Besides,  I  may  sing  a  night  or  two 
in  Marseilles.  If  so,  it  will  be  the  first  time  I  have  ever 
trod  the  French  stage." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  cries  Estelle,  so  eagerly  that  both  the 
gentlemen  laugh  a  little,  and  the  Austrian  remarks :  "  I 
don't  wonder  you  are  anxious  to  hear  Pergolese,"  add- 
ing :  "  I  always  admire  the  frankness  of  the  very 
young." 

Then  they  stroll  into  the  chapel,  and  look  at  the  relics 
of  saints  and  curious  pictures  of  shipwrecked  sailors, 
with  votive  offerings  for  their  salvation.  Tiring  of  this, 
they  wander  about  the  Roman  ruins ;  but,  the  afternoon 
growing  late,  they  soon  walk  down  the  little  narrow 
street  again,  and  take  a  different  bridge  to  cross  the 
Saone. 


98  ACHIEVE  DE  PORTALIS. 

While  going  down  the  stone  steps  that  lead  to  it, 
Estelle  trips  lightly  ahead  of  the  two  gentlemen,  and 
Da  Messina  sees  the  man,  dressed  as  the  steamboat 
attache,  watching  her  furtively.  Twice  before,  this  day, 
he  has  noticed  this  fellow's  eyes  upon  his  ward,  once 
going  up  the  hill,  a  second  time  in  the  Chapel  of  Notre 
Dame  at  the  summit. 

For  an  instant  his  brows  contract  in  nervous  thought ; 
then  he  suddenly  cries,  loudly  and  savagely :  "  Estelle, 

don't  run  so  far  ahead  of  us !  Have  a  care,  or  I'll " 

He  cuts  off  his  speech  with  threatening  gesture. 

This  corning  to  her  ears  in  a  harsher  tone  than  he 
had  ever  before  used  to  her,  the  warned  one's  eyes  flash 
with  indignant  fire ;  then  her  lips  quiver,  and  she  hangs 
her  head. 

"  Mein  Gott!  Don't  speak  so  sharply  to  the  child," 
whispers  the  Austrian,  adding  these  curious  words :  "  I 
double  my  offer,  Da  Messina !  " 

"  It  is  again  refused !  "  returns  the  other,  but  con- 
tinues, apologetically :  "  You  don't  understand  my  rea- 
son for  my  apparent  sternness." 

"  Herr  Gott  Himmel!  There  can  be  no  reason  for 
it,"  mutters  the  young  officer.  "  See !  Tears  are  in  her 
beautiful  eyes.  You  don't  understand  your  responsi- 
bilities, my  friend,  with  that  tender  heart." 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  says  the  other,  his  face  growing  curious- 
ly troubled,  as  the  two  walk  on  together,  apparently  not 
on  as  good  terms  as  they  had  been  before. 

As  for  Estelle,  she  seems  for  a  moment  crushed. 

At  the  Tarascon,  Da  Messina  says  :  "Just  wait  down- 
stairs, Radetzky,  for  a  few  minutes,  until  I  have  dinner 
properly  ordered.  Besides,  I  want  to  make  an  apology 
to  mademoiselle." 

"  She  deserves  one !  "  returns  the  Austrian,  sternly. 

But,  scarce  heeding  him,  Carlo  follows  Estelle,  and 
the  padrone  and  his  bound-girl  being  together  in  his 
parlor,  he  suddenly  turns  her  to  him  and  whispers: 
"  Forget  my  words." 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.      .  99 

"  How  can  I  ?  Chided  in  public — threatened  before 
him !  " 

"  My  words  were  to  give  you  safety.  You  noticed 
that  man  dressed  as  a  steamboat  official  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Her  face,  that  was  indignant,  grows  anx- 
ious. 

"  Three  times  I  saw  him  watching  you  with  a  mou- 
chard's  eye.  I  fear  the  fellow  suspects  you.  Ba<sta!  but 
he  will  hardly  imagine  that  the  lover  of  Madame  la 
Baronne  would  treat  her  as  an  Italian  padrone  does  his 
bound-girl." 

"  Oh,  you  did  it  for  my  sake  ?  I — I  forgive  you," 
replies  the  girl,  extending  an  eager  hand.  To  her  as- 
tonishment, he  seizes  her  white  fingers  and  kisses  them 
tenderly. 

With  a  little  bashful  cry,  she  runs  into  her  chamber, 
and  half  an  hour  afterward  comes  out,  a  strange  look 
of  happiness  upon  her  face. 

"  We  are  en  fete  this  evening.  We  are  going  to  give 
our  friend  a  good-by !  "  cries  her  guardian,  apparently 
happy  himself. 

Gazing  about,  Estelle  sees  a  table  decked  with  flowers 
and  sparkling  crystal  and  the  service  of  an  elaborate 
dinner.  Radetzky  is  already  in  the  room,  and  they 
make  a  merry  triangular  meal  of  it. 

Estelle,  seated  with  a  gentleman  on  either  hand,  for- 
gets, in  listening  to  their  conversation,  her  sad  posi- 
tion. Perchance  made  more  vivacious  by  sparkling 
champagne,  her  fair  face  this  night  has  a  new  look  upon 
it,  one  scarce  definable,  yet  potent  enough  to  make  the 
young  Austrian  observe :  "  You  seem  in  great  spirits 
this  evening,  Mademoiselle;  and  I  also  perceive  your 
guardian  has  made  his  peace  with  you." 

"  Oh,  I  have  forgiven  him  !  "  she  murmurs,  and  rath- 
er astonishes  Radetzky  by  adding  archly :  "  I  knew  mio 
padrone  didn't  mean  to  be  very  cross.  I  am  going  to 
be  Pergolese's  favorite  pupil,  am  not  I,  maestro?  " 

"  Corpo  di  San  Marco !    That  is  easy !  "  laughs  Da 


100  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Messina.     "  I  shall  have  but  one."    The  emphasis  on 
the  "  one  "  makes  his  bound-girl's  eyes  sparkle. 

"Can't  you  sing  for. us,"  suggests  the  Austrian  to 
her,  as  they  move  from  the  table,  "  so  that  I  can  note 
the  improvement  in  your  voice  when  I  hear  you  again 
in  Italy  ?  You  are  going  to  let  me  see  Mademoiselle  in 
Milan,  are  you  not,  Carlo  ?  "  he  inquires  of  her  master. 

"  Of  course,  Franz !  I  do  not  intend  to  make  Estelle 
a  novice  in  the  temple  of  art."  To  this  he  adds :  "  Won't 
you  sing  for  us,  little  one?  Do  not  be  frightened.  It 
will  not  be  to  the  criticism  of  tfie  scribes  or  the  public, 
but  only  of  friends — you'll  let  me  say  that,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I — I  haven't  been  practicing  much.  You  know 
that!" 

"  Ah !  You  like  to  make  a  successful  first  appear- 
ance," he  laughs.  "  Let  me  encourage  you.  I  will  sing 
first !  Corpo  di  Baccho,  I  am  not  afraid !  " 

" Mein  Gott!  Will  you,  in  private?  "  cries  the  Aus- 
trian, eagerly. 

"  Peste,  I  always  sing  better  when  I  am  not  paid  for 
it,"  says  the  cavaliere.  And  seating  himself  at  the 
piano,  with  the  dash,  certainty,  and  elan  of  a  great  artist 
who  has  nearly  everything  in  current  music  at  his 
tongue's  end,  he  sings  for  them  half  a  dozen  morceaux, 
ranging  from  "  La  Bella  del  Re  "  of  "  La  Favorita  "  to 
a  little  love  song  of  Schubert,  tender  as  a  maiden's 
heart.  These  are  all  different,  and  of  wonderful  va- 
riety, but,  as  he  delivers  them,  are  all  not  only  master- 
pieces of  technique,  but  the  very  outpouring  of  an  ar- 
dent soul,  whose  best  expression  is  through  song. 

For  a  few  moments  there  is  a  silence  more  compli- 
mentary than  applause;  tears  are  in  Estelle's  sympa- 
thetic eyes. 

Then  she  feels  the  hand  of  the  maestro  upon  her  arm  ; 
she  is  led  to  the  piano,  and  sings  for  them,  rather 
tremblingly  and  quite  bashfully,  a  couple  of  show- 
pieces, such  as  young  ladies  achieve  at  convent  gradu- 
ation. 

"  Cospetto,  thy  voice  is  worthy  of  better  music !  " 


ADRIENNE    DE    PORTALIS.  IO1 

mutters  Da  Messina,  though  Radetzky  applauds  vigor- 
ously. 

And,  this  being  over,  her  padrone,  who,  apparently, 
wishes  to  have  some  private  conversation  with  their 
guest,  remarks :  "  Estelle,  to-morrow  you  begin  work 
at  nine  o'clock,  so  it  is  time  for  thee  to  be  in  bed,  little 
one.  Say  good  night  to  Captain  Radetzky." 

"  But  not,  I  hope,  good-by,"  she  suggests,  cordially, 
as  she  extends  her  hand  to  the  Austrian. 

And  he,  taking  it  delicately  in  his  fingers,  kisses  it 
respectfully,  and  murmurs :  "  Of  course !  Tis  but  an 
au  revoir.  You  have  a  friend  in  me.  In  Milan,  call 
on  Franz  Radetzky,  if  he  can  be  of  service  to  you." 

Careless  words,  but  the  young  captain  means  them, 
and  in  their  truth  is  a  great  deal  more  to  the  pretty 
girl  who  listens  to  him  than  at  this  time  she  imagines. 

Then,  after  a  courtesy  to  her  master,  Estelle  going 
out,  the  Austrian  says :  "  Three  times  my  offer,  my 
dear  Carlo !  " 

"  Why  do  you  wish  it  ?  "  asks  the  Italian,  a  tinge  of 
suspicion  in  his  tone. 

"  Because  I  can  never  become  famous  in  art  myself, 
and  I  would  like  to  shine  through  reflected  genius. 
Some  day  I  think  that  little  girl  in  there  " — he  points 
to  the  door  of  Estelle's  chamber — "  will  become  fa- 
mous." 

"  Per  Baccho!"  cries  the  Italian,  impulsively.  "  You 
think,  Franz,  she  will  make  a  prima  donna?  So  do  I ! 
No  great,  tragic,  Lucretia  of  the  stage,  but  a  fairy- 
voiced  Linda,  who'd  charm  a  harder  heart  than  yours 
or  mine,  Radetzky !  "  He  looks  at  his  friend  with 
searching  eyes,  and  continues,  decidedly :  "  I  am  com- 
pelled to  again  refuse  you.  Ask  anything  but  that." 

"  Very  well.  We  will  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  to- 
gether, and  then  I'll  go  on  my  way  to  the  De  L'Eu- 
rope,"  remarks  the  young  Austrian,  with  a  little  sigh, 
as  he  lights  a  cigar. 

Whereupon  the  two  gentlemen,  who  have  become 
more  than  comrades,  and  call  each  other  Franz  and 


102  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Carlo,  over  an  additional  bottle  of  wine  and  some  ex- 
cellent Havanas,  pass  a  pleasant  hour  or  two  together, 
their  conversation  touching  upon  art,  music,  Parisian 
social  life — on  anything  but  politics,  but  at  times  di- 
rected with  curious  eagerness  by  Da  Messina. 

After  they  have  shaken  hands  and  said  farewell,  and 
the  Austrian  has  again  whispered,  "  I  owe  my  life  to 
you !  Good  luck  and  happiness  till  we  meet  at  Milan !  " 
and  gone  down  the  stairs,  Da  Messina  mutters  to  him- 
self, a  strange  triumph  in  his  voice :  "  I  got  the  secret 
I  wanted  out  of  him!  It  was  a.. dastard  trick,  because 
he  has  a  true  heart  and — he  loves  me.  But  putting  to- 
gether what  Franz  Radetzky  said  last  night  and  a  care- 
less word  or  two  picked  up  to-day,  as  we  wandered 
about  the  chapel  of  Notre  Dame,  and  that  little  remark 
he  made  about  his  uncle,  the  sturdy  old  Governor  of 
Milan,  I  know  that  sixty  thousand  re-enforcements  are 
ordered  to  join  the  Austrian  troops  in  Italy.  These  can 
not  come  till  spring.  We  must  strike  in  Lombardy  be- 
fore the  flowers  bloom !  "  Then  he  glances  toward  the 
room  where  his  pretty  charge  is  now  sleeping,  and 
comments :  "  Tricking  my  friend  out  of  military  secrets 
that  his  honor  compels  him  to  guard — treating  this  poor 
girl,  whose  very  assumed  childish  graces  give  her  new 

charms  for  me "  But  here  he  checks  himself  by 

jeering :  "  'Twere  a  scurvy  trick,  my  Italian  conspir- 
ator, to  strive  to  win  a  woman's  heart  when  putting 
the  halter  about  thy  neck !  No,  no !  My  only  safety, 
her  best  fate,  is  that  I  am  but  the  strict  padrone  to 
my  sweet  captive.  Cospctto!  To-morrow  I  must  be 
so  stern  to  her  that  she  will  hate  me." 

Carlo  da  Messina's  face  is  strangely  sad,  his  expres- 
sion very  tender.  He  tosses  a  kiss  with  his  hand  twice, 
daintily,  lovingly,  toward  the  door  that  keeps  his  eyes 
from  his  exquisite  bound-girl,  and  with  a  sigh  turns  to 
his  lonely  chamber. 


ADRIENNE   .JE   PORTALIS. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  HOW'S   THAT    FOR   A    CLOSE-FISTED   BRITISH    LOVER   OF 
LIBERTY  ?  " 

As  the  clock  strikes  nine  the  next  morning,  Estelle, 
obedient  to  her  padrone's  instructions,  trips  into  the 
little  parlor  to  find  before  her  a  gentleman  who  seems 
a  taskmaster.  Even  as  Da  Messina  returns  her  greet- 
ing, he  says :  "  Now  to  business ;  come  with  me  to 
the  piano!  Let  me  see  what  you  can  do  with  that 
instrument."  His  tone  is  that  of  the  pedagogue, 
though  he  draws  the  piano-stool  out  for  her,  and 
seats  her  carefully  upon  it. 

She  has  scarce  played  twenty  bars  when  he  stops 
her,  saying :  "  More  of  that  is  unnecessary.  You  will 
never  make  a  great  pianist." 

"  Oh,  but  the  sisters  said  I  played  very  well !  " 

"  For  an  amateur  young  lady,  perhaps  for  the  salon, 
but  never  for  the  concert  stage.  Those  delicate  hands  " 
— he  takes  one  of  hers  in  his  and  regards  it  critically — 
"  haven't  the  power  of  a  piano-thumper.  If  you  play 
well  enough  for  your  accompaniments,  that  will  be  all 
that  is  necessary.  Now,  your  voice !  Don't  be  fright- 
ened. I  already  think  it  a  beautiful  one.  Stand  up! 
I  will  play  your  accompaniment.  Tell  me  the  three 
simple  songs  you  know  best ;  not  the  trash  you  warbled 
last  night.  "  And  she  mentioning  them  to  him,  he  says : 
"  They  will  do  well  enough  to  test  you."  He  runs  his 
fingers  over  the  keys,  and  at  his  word,  tremblingly  at 
first,  but  encouraged  once  or  twice  by  the  pleased  look 
on  his  face,  Estelle  goes  through  the  numbers.  "  Sing 
me  that  last  song  again,"  he  says,  "  and  hold  that  high 
B-flat,  adding  to  it  this  little  embellishment."  He  hums 
a  few  notes  of  fioriture. 

And,  she  doing  his  bidding,  as  she  finishes  he  springs 
up,  and  astonishes  her  by  saying :  "'  Bravo !  Some  day 
I'll  make  you  a  prima  donna !  " 

"  Oh,  you  think  I  can  sing?  " 


104  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  Yes,  beautifully,  but  with  lots  of  practice  and  an 
immensity  of  hard  work !  "  he  replies.  "  You  have  the 
voice  of  a  linnet,  marred  by  some  atrocious  faults,  but 
you  have,  also,  a  very  good  ear.  Remember,  accuracy 
of  intervals  is  the  first  thing  to  be  attained,"  adding, 
enthusiastically :  "  With  such  promise,  I  shall  work 
you  very  hard." 

With  this,  he  arranges  and  explains  several  vocal  ex- 
ercises for  her,  directing :  "  You  will  practice  these 
very  carefully,  and  as  constantly  as  possible,  but  not 
over  an  hour  at  one  time,  until  I  can  give  you  others." 
Her  little  coroneted  watch  being  left  at  the  bankers'  in 
Troyes,  he  places  his  big,  gold  one  on  a  nearby  table, 
remarking :  "  Time  the  length  of  your  exercise  by  this. 
Your  voice  must  be  strengthened,  but  never  tired.  Re- 
member that !  Sing  loud !  Let  them  hear  you  in  that 
corridor ;  let  any  curious  listener  know  that  my  bound- 
girl  is  hard  at  work !  Now,  how  is  our  Italian  ?  "  he 
adds.  "  Bring  me  that  little  book  we  purchased  at 
Troyes.  Thanks !  Let  us  hear  what  you  have  learned." 

He  seats  himself,  and,  at  his  sign,  Madame  la  Ba- 
ronne  stands  before  him,  almost  unconsciously  taking 
the  pose  of  a  school-girl  at  recitation.  As  his  eyes 
rest  upon  her,  Carlo  thinks  she  never  looked  more 
attractive.  A  slight  flush  of  anxiety  on  her  face  gives 
piquancy  to  her  delicate  and  emotional  features.  Her 
little  slippered  feet,  their  heels  tight  together,  their 
toes  turned  demurely  out,  seem  nervous  under  his 
gaze.  Once  or  twice  her  graceful  knee  gives  a  spas- 
modic jerk.  ~ 

In  truth,  Estelle  is  very  well  aware  that  she  knows 
next  to  nothing  on  the  subject  about  which  she  is  to 
be  questioned,  and  wonders  how  her  maestro  will  ac- 
cept it.  Her  preceptor  very  shortly  discovers  this  also, 
and  remarks,  severely :  "  You  don't  seem  to  appreci- 
ate, Mademoiselle,  that  my  suggestions  to  you  are  com- 
mands." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  she  says,  her  great  eyes  gazing 
truthfully  into  his ;  "  I — I  knew  it  was  a  task !  "  Then 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  IO5 

breaks  out  almost  passionately :  "  But  how  could  I  re- 
member anything  in  the  agitation  of  hearing  that  the 
papers  said  I  was  a " 

"  Sh — h !  "  His  hand  is  placed  gently  upon  her  lips. 
"  Be  careful !  "  he  whispers ;  then  goes  on  in  louder 
voice,  a  little  chagrin  in  his  tone :  "  But  afterward — 
later  in  the  day,  and  upon  the  boat — there  was  a  hand- 
some young  officer  with  us  also  to  distract  Mademoi- 
selle's attention." 

"  I — I  thought  not  of  him,"  she  replies,  indig- 
nantly. "  I  remembered  your  commands — no  glances 
at  gentlemen.  I — I  simply  don't  know  my  lesson,  be- 
cause  " 

"  Peste,  don't  let  me  have  any  more  excuses ! "  he 
interrupts,  sharply.  "  The  next  time  I  question  you, 
you  must  know  this,  or  I  shall  punish  you.  Italian  is 
the  language  of  art.  It  must  be  your  language.  But 
now  I  have  some  weighty  things  to  arrange.  Sapristi! 
For  you,  little  one,  I  have  forgotten  my  breakfast." 

He  steps  out  of  the  room,  and  she,  gazing  after  him, 
thinks  bitterly :  "  Why  has  he  so  changed  since  last 
night  ?  Why  is  he  so  cold,  so  severe  ?  "  and,  in  a  de- 
jected way,  goes  to  practicing  the  vocal  exercises  he 
has  assigned  her. 

This  is  quite  suddenly  broken  in  upon.  The  parlor 
door  is  so  hurriedly  opened  thait  Estelle  gives  a  start. 
The  cavaliere  stands  before  her,  his  face  anxious,  his 
mien  agitated. 

"  Quick !  That  fellow  is  about  this  house !  "  he  whis- 
pers. "  In  the  dining-room  he  served  my  breakfast 
under  a  waiter's  apron.  Is  there  anything  that  con- 
nects you  in  the  slightest  with  your  former  life,  ex- 
cept the  dress  you  wore  at  Troyes?  To  destroy  that 
would  be  suspicious." 

After  a  hurried  examination,  she  comes  running  in 
lo  him,  and  murmurs  in  sad  voice :  "  This — this  hand- 
kerchief is  the  only  thing  that  makes  me  aught  save 
Estelle,  your  apprentice." 

"But  your  trunk!     It  has  no  marks  upon  it?     I 


106  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

must  be  sure  of  that !  "  Running  into  her  room,  he 
finds  a  placard  or  two  which  shows  another  and  for- 
mer route  of  travel,  and  he  orders  hastily :  "  Some  hot 
water !  Wash  this  off,  while  I  get  rid  of  this.  '  We 
must  make  a  clean  house,'  as  the  Carbonari  say." 

Estelle  has  scarce  obeyed  his  instructions  and  re- 
moved the  labels  from  her  trunk,  when  she  hears  Da 
Messina  in  the  parlor  again.  He  is  ringing  the  bell, 
and  asking  that  Signora  Brisco  be  sent  to  him. 

Then  he  calls  his  apprentice,  and  -she  coming  to  him, 
he  whispers :  "  That  handkerchief  is  smoke." 

A  moment  later,  La  Brisco  stands  with  them.  To 
their  landlady  he  says :  "  I  leave  here  to-morrow,  so 
that  you  must  see  that  the  rest  of  my  apprentice's 
wardrobe  is  ready  for  her." 

"  Oh,  all  that's  nearly  finished  now !  "  answers  the 
signora,  briskly.  "  Two  other  dresses  for  every-day 
use,  and  a  white  frock  when  she  sings  for  you  and 
your  friends  in  the  evening.  I  have  heard  her  voice. 
It's  a  nice  one,  isn't  it  ?  Reminds  me  of  that  old  canary 
bird,  Pasta.  Besides,  if  well  taught,  she  would  make 
perhaps  a  passable  dancer.  She's  got  pretty,  flexible 
legs,  though  a  little  squeamish  about  showing  them." 

''Your  account  for  these  matters  of  dress?"  inter- 
jects Da  Messina,  impatiently. 

"  It'll  come  in  with  your  bill  when  you  leave,"  re- 
marks the  landlady.  Then,  in  the  interests  of  trade, 
she  suggests:  "Another  dinner  party  this  evening?" 

"  No.  I  have  other  business,"  replies  il  cavaliere, 
as  she  goes  away,  and,  turning  to  Estelle,  he  adds : 
"  You  know  what  that  is !  The  notary  will  be  here 
with  me  at  nine  o'clock  to-night.  Until  then  I  must 
say  adieu.  Keep  up  your  spirits.  If  anything  awk- 
ward happens  to  you,  notify  me  immediately  at  this 
address."  He  hands  her  a  business  card.  "  For  your 
own  sake,  remain  strictly  in  these  rooms." 

And  so  he  goes  away,  leaving  the  girl  gazing  at  the 
peculiar  address  he  has  left  with  her,  for  the  business 
<;ard  reads :  "  Johnston  Judkins,  Agent  for  the  Bir- 


ADRIENNE   DE   fORfALlS.  107 

mingham  Arms  Company,  with  Gervaise  et  Cie,  No.  47 
Rue  Grolee." 

She  puts  this  in  her  pocket,  and  spends  a  day  that 
would  be  dismal,  did  she  not,  fearing  to  displease  her 
padrone,  practice  her  exercises  most  assiduously,  and 
even  master  a  few  Italian  irregular  verbs,  though  in 
truth  her  studies  are  disjointed  by  passing  sounds ;  she 
shudders  at  every  unfamiliar  step  upon  the  corridor. 

So,  it  comes  to  pass  at  nine  o'clock  this  evening"  that 
a  very  pathetic  young  lady  enters  the  parlor  to  find  her 
tnaestro  awaiting  her,  together  with  an  official-looking 
gentleman,  who  is  seated  at  a  nearby  table,  making 
some  additions  to  a  document  which  bears  several 
stamps  and  indorsements. 

As  she  courtesys  to  her  guardian,  and  acknowledges 
the  stranger's  bow,  the  notary  can  not  help  thinking: 
"  A  charming  yet  extremely  diffident  girl ;  she  blushes 
every  time  I  look  at  her." 

As  for  Pergolese,  pity  comes  to  him  as  he  notes  his 
ward's  eyes  and  guesses  she  considers  that  she  is  robed 
for  sacrifice. 

Estelle  is  all  in  white,  even  to  the  slippers  and  silk 
stockings  that  the  short  bouffant  skirt  of  muslin  places 
in  ample  evidence.  Being  frocked  for  evening,  her 
ivory  shoulders  are  modestly  displayed  by  a  kind  of 
baby  waist,  whose  sleeves,  held  up  by  ribbon  bows, 
leave  bare  her  gracefully  rounded  arms,  which  gleam, 
snowy,  in  the  lamplight.  To  give  her  extreme  youth, 
her  luxuriant  hair  has  been  unplaited,  and  hangs  toss- 
ing in  brown  curls  over  her  sloping  shoulders,  fettered 
only  by  a  single  satin  ribbon. 

Anxious  to  get  the  matter  over,  Da  Messina,  beck- 
oning her  to  him,  says  :  "  Estelle,  this  is  the  official  who 
will  take  your  acknowledgment  by  which  you  assent  to 
your  apprenticeship  to  me.  The  document  was  drawn 
up  in  Paris,  and  signed  by  your  parents  there.  As  you 
are  sixteen  years  of  age,  it  is  well  that  your  signature 
be  upon  it  also." 


108  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Then,  addressing  the  notary,  he  asks:  "Is  every- 
thing ready  ?  " 

"  Quite  so.  I  will  now  accept  the  girl's  acknowledg- 
ment," says  the  official,  and,  turning  to  the  candidate, 
he  asks  her  in  business  routine :  "  Your  name  is  Estelle 
Gabrielle  Chartres?" 

And  Madame  la  Baronne,  being  compelled  to  un- 
truth, whispers  :  "  Yes !  " 

"  You  will  sign  here !  "  the  notary  says. 

Her  limbs  tremble  as  she  sinks  into  a  chair  they 
have  placed  for  her,  and  her  eyes~swim  as  she  con- 
trives to  scribble  her  new  signature  upon  the  paper, 
and,  holding  up  her  hand,  gives  her  acknowledgment, 
and  by  document  becomes  the  bound-girl  of  Carlo  da 
Messina. 

A  moment  later  they  are  alone,  the  notary  having 
bowed  himself  out. 

Two  burning  tears  fall  upon  the  paper,  as  his  charge 
strides  up  to  Carlo,  her  eyes  blazing,  and  places  the 
indenture  in  his  hand.  To  him  she  says,  hoarsely : 
"  This,  coupled  with  my  sacred  oath  to  you,  makes  me 
yours!  For  I  dare  never  assume  my  rightful  name." 

"  Yes,"  he  answers,  a  repressed  triumph  in  his  voice. 
"  Now  I  am  indeed  your  padrone !  " 

On  this,  Estelle's  eyes  lose  their  fire;  she  steals  a 
little  hand  into  his  strong  clasp,  and  pleads :  "  Oh,  God, 
put  mercy  in  your  heart  for  me !  " 

"  You — you  are  sorry  ?  "  Da  Messina  asks,  despite 
his  resolution  returning  the  pressure  of  her  clinging 
fingers,  for  his  captive  in  her  pathos  is  very  beautiful. 

"  Who  would  not  be  sorry,"  she  bursts  forth,  "  in 
my  awful  position?  A  false  name — a  false  identity! 
I,  who  was  once  a  baroness,  am  now  only  your — your 
serf!  That's  what  this  paper  means — that's  what  it 
really  is!  " 

"  Trust  me,  little  one,"  he  says,  in  kindly  tone,  and 
would  place  his  hand  soothingly  upon  the  floating  curls, 
which  take  varying  tints  of  bronze  and  brown  under 
the  lamplight. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  I<X) 

But  she  turns  upon  him,  and  with  feminine  instinct 
falters :  "  I — I  can  see  by  your  face  that  you  mean  to 
hold  me  to  my  indentures,  after  we  are  in  Italy." 

"  Did  not  I  tell  you,"  replies  her  padrone,  "  that,  in 
order  for  you  to  escape  extradition  to  France,  in  order 
that  my  trip  to  this  country  may  seem  to  have  been  a 
business  one  to  Austrian  inquisitors — for  your  safety,  as 
well  as.  mine — I  must  hold  you  as  my  apprentice." 

"  But  after  that  ?  This  document  is  for  seven  years. 
You  still  mean  to  keep  me?  " 

Here  a  strange  feeling,  that  he  has  fought  against, 
but  which  has  been  growing  in  his  heart,  overcoming 
him,  he  cries :  "  Diavolo !  With  such  a  voice  as  yours, 
YES  !  "  adding,  enthusiastically,  "  Did  not  I  tell  you  that 
I  would  make  you  a  prima  donna !  "  then  goes  on,  hur- 
riedly, as  if  to  justify  himself :  "  Cospetto,  is  that  not 
enough !  Besides,  thy  indentures  " — he  taps  the  docu- 
ment he  holds  in  his  hand — "  are  valuable.  For  them 
the  Austrian  officer  offered  me  a  mighty  sum." 

At  this  unfortunate  remark,  a  kind  of  torture  comes 
in  Estelle's  face ;  her  lips  tremble ;  her  cheeks  glow  red 
as  fire,  then  turn  pallid ;  as,  wringing  her  hands,  she 
moans  :  "  Bargained  for,  as  if  a  slave !  To  thy  shame — 
to  his  shame — to  my  shame !  " 

"  No,  no !  "  he  cries.  "  It  were  an  infamy  if  I  per- 
mitted you  to  misjudge  Radetzky.  He  is  an  honest, 
open-hearted  gentleman.  His  only  thought  was  that 
he  could  do  a  grand  thing  for  you,  and  find  you  an 
opening  to  success  upon  the  stage  of  Vienna,  where 
his  uncle,  the  great  general,  is  in  high  favor  with  both 
court  and  emperor." 

"  But  you  refused  ?  "  she  gasps,  a  wistful  look  coming 
into  her  face,  as  she  steals  a  glance  at  her  dictator, 
whose  sternness  sometimes  gives  her  despair,  whose 
kindness  at  others  seems  to  make  her  radiant. 

"  Refused?  Of  course  I  did !  "  he  answers,  an  awak- 
ening passion  making  his  face  gleam.  "  Thou  art  my 
most  valued  possession !  I  yield  thee  to  no  man !  " 

There  is  a  love-light  in  his  eyes,  but  she  sees  it  not, 


IIO  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

for  she  mutters,  hoarsely:  " Mon  Dieu!  You  regard 
me  as  PROPERTY  !  "  And,  clinching  her  little  white  fists 
in  impotent  protest,  this  lady,  who  by  cruel  fate,  has 
been  legally  compelled  to  strip  herself  of  title,  name, 
and  station,  and  decree  herself  to  childish  government 
at  the  hands  of  a  taskmaster,  rushes  to  her  little  cham- 
ber, and  bursts  into  a  torrent  of  despairing  tears. 

Carlo  is  about  to  follow  her,  but  there  is  a  rap  at 
the  parlor  door.  He  steps  hastily  to  it,  and  a  servant, 
entering,  announces :  "  A  gentleman  asks  to  see  you." 

A  sudden  determination  flashes  in  the  Italian's  face. 
He  says,  hastily :  "  I  expect  him !  Never  mind  his 
name.  Show  him  up  to  me  at  once !  " 


Some  hours  after  this,  tossing  in  her  sleep,  Estelle 
awakens.  A  ray  of  light  under  the  door  of  her 
room  comes  in  from  the  neighboring  apartment.  For 
a  moment  she  can  not  remember  where  she  is.  Then 
Da  Messina's  voice  from  the  adjoining  parlor  smites 
her  with  recollection.  Tears  come  again  into  her  eyes. 
She  shudders :  "  His  bound-girl !  Bid  for  as  one ! 
Valued  as  one !  " 

But  here  a  more  imminent  terror  masters  her.  Two 
men  are  talking  excitedly  in  the  parlor.  She  catches 
the  words  :  "  Police — in  hiding — at  the  frontier." 

The  horror  of  the  pursued  flies  through  her  veins. 
She  thinks,  affnghtedly :  "  Can  it  be  that  some  officer 
is  accusing  him  of  shielding  me?"  In  a  moment  she 
has  slipped  from  her  bed,  her  white,  dimpled  feet,  in 
their  nude  beauty,  making  no  sound  upon  the  floor. 
She  glides  to  the  entrance,  and,  opening  the  door  very 
slightly,  looks  anxiously  out. 

Astonishment  comes  to  her.  A  man,  dressed  in  the 
rough  frieze  of  a  traveling  salesman,  is  exhibiting  a 
rifle,  or  musket,  and  speaking  with  English  accent  and 
trade  directness. 

A  heavy  curtain  has  been  drawn  over  the  parlor 
door  leading  to  the  outside  corridor,  but  to  Estelle, 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  Tit 

standing  scarce  ten  feet  away,  the  man's  voice,  though 
low,  is  quite  distinct. 

"  These,"  he  says,  "  have  the  latest  improvements, 
Signore.  Their  range  is  fifty  yards  more  than  the 
guns  of  the  blooming  Austrian  infantry." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  answers  Da  Messina.  "  I  in- 
vestigated this  arm  in  Paris,  and  also  again  at  your 
office  here.  And  you  say  that  ten  thousand  of  these 
can  be  delivered  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replies  the  man,  "  I  can  guarantee  ten  thou- 
sand, or  even  fifteen  thousand,  with  sufficient  ammu- 
nition, at  the  price  named." 

"  It  is  a  heavy  one,"  mutters  il  cavaliere. 

"  Ah !  But  Italian  liberty,  my  dear  sir,  is  worth  the 
price,"  whispers  the  vender,  who  is  apparently  an  agent 
for  some  English  arms  manufacturing  company. 

"  Yes,"  replies  Carlo,  "  the  liberty  of  my  country  is 
worthy  of  anything !  But  be  sure  these  weapons  are 
in  time.  As  it  is,  the  Austrian  government  has  requi- 
sitioned even  every  fowling-piece  in  Lombardy.  If  we 
fight  now,  we  only  have  the  weapons  of  despair — cob- 
blestones and  stilettos.  But  the  night  is  late.  I  have 
had  no  sleep,  practically,  for  two  days.  Come  to  me 
to-morrow  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  with  your  con- 
tracts. Understand  me?  These  must  be  delivered  by 
the  I4th  of  March  to  the  appointed  parties  at  Genoa. 
They  must  be  all  wrapped  in  hay,  so  that  they  may  be 
conveyed  across  the  Lombardian  frontier  in  farmers' 
wagons." 

"  By  the  I4th?  "  remarks  the  agent,  dubiously.  "  1 
can  catch  the  direct  steamer  from  Marseilles  to  Malta 
on  the  5th.  Five  days — the  loth — a  fast  steamer.  I'll 
have  them  at  Genoa  by  the  I5th,  at  the  latest.  You 
see,  we  could  never  do  this  in  such  quick  time,  but  we 
happen  to  have  the  arms  already  on  board  a  steamer 
at  Malta.  They  were  intended  for  the  Albanians;  but 
they've  run  short  of  funds.  By  the  I5th — I'll  do  it! 
It's  ten  thousand  your  committee  wanted,  with  one 


112  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

hundred  cartridges  per  gun — at  the  price  named,  if 
payment  is  secured." 

"  That  shall  be  ready  for  you  on  delivery  of  the  arms 
in  Genoa;  drafts  of  the  Messrs.  Gibbs,  accepted  by 
Coutts  Brothers,  London." 

"  God  bless  my  soul,"  ejaculates  the  man  of  com- 
merce, "  that's  the  same  as  gold  coin !  " 

"  It  is  the  gold  and  silver  plate  of  many  Italian  noble 
families  that  has  gone  into  the  melting-pot  to  give  us 
the  sinews  of  war,"  remarks  Da  Messina,  sadly.  Then 
he  writes,  hurriedly,  and,  handing  the  slip  of  paper  to 
his  visitor,  says :  "  Here  are  the  names  of  the  parties 
who  will  receive  the  goods  and  pay  you  for  them, 
and  also  the  Sardinian  officers  of  customs,  who 
will  pass  your  invoice  of  hay  bales,  without  examina- 
tion, at  Genoa.  But  you  must  deliver  them  not  later 
than  the  I5th!  Then  they  can  be  at  Tortone  on  the 
1 7th,  and  our  hay  wagons  cross  the  frontier,  so 
that —  He  checks  himself,  and  mutters :  "  O  Gran 
Dio !  Is  the  time  so  near  to  strike  ?  " 

"  By  Heaven !  "  cries  the  arms  agent,  enthusiastic- 
ally; "I'll  have  'em  delivered  on  time,  if  I  have  to 
blow  the  boilers  out  of  our  steamer  to  do  it.  You  can 
believe  me,  I'll  attend  to  this  matter  personally,  on  the 
honor  of  a  business  man." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  in  British  business  faith,  or  I  should 
not  have  dared  to  so  unbosom  myself  to  you  as  this 
matter  has  compelled  me,"  answers  the  Italian.  "  And 
now  good  night,  Englishman.  You  may  thank  God 
that  you  are  free,  though  you  manufacturers  make 
freedom  a  pretty  high  article  to  struggling  patriots." 

"  Struggling  patriots  are  generally  pretty  uncertain 
pay !  "  laughs  the  other.  Then  he  says,  with  English 
brusqueness :  "  But,  for  such  bills  as  you  state,  which 
are  cash,  thirty  per  cent,  off!  How  is  that  for  a 
close-fisted  British  lover  of  liberty?" 

"  Diavolo!  I  thank  you,"  whispers  the  other,  and 
clasps  the  hand  of  the  man  of  commerce,  eagerly  and 
gratefully. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  1 13 

"  But,  besides,"  remarks  his  visitor,  "  in  addition  I 
must  request " 

"  What  new  demand?  "  sneers  Carlo,  savagely. 

"  That  you  sing  me  one  song.  I  have  never  yet 
heard  Pergolese,  and  I  love  music." 

"  Corpo  di  Baccho !  I  will  sing  you  half  a  dozen, 
generous  Englishman ! "  cries  the  tenor,  excitedly. 
"  With  this  discount,  twelve  thousand  muskets,  instead 
of  the  ten  thousand,  and  two  hundred  rounds  of  am- 
munition a  gun !  God  bless  you !  "  and  he  wrings  the 
hand  of  the  British  manufacturer. 

A  moment  later,  Adrienne  glides  back  to  her  cot. 
Lying  there,  she  murmurs :  "  As  I  suspected,  an  Ital- 
ian patriot !  In  Milan,  under  the  Austrian  rule,  you — 
my  dictator — a  secret  conspirator,  taking  up  arms! 
Grace  a  Dieu!  I  will  have  such  a  hold  upon  you  as 
poor  bound-girl  never  had  before  upon  Italian  pa- 
drone!" 

For  one  moment,  she  laughs  jeeringly;  then  gasps: 
"  Oh,  God,  forgive  me !  His  touch  thrills  me,  his 
voice  enchants  me !  "  as  she  listens  to  Pergolese  sing- 
ing, with  all  a  noble  soul,  the  weapons  of  liberty  out  of 
the  hardheaded  British  tradesman. 

While,  in  the  corridor  outside,  gliding  with  slippered 
feet,  is  Parogue,  garbed  as  a  waiter,  the  most  adroit 
mouchard  of  old  Vidocq.  He  is  meditating :  "  Ton- 
nerre  de  Dieu!  This  fellow  is  assuredly  a  great  artist, 
but  is  that  shrinking  thing  in  there  his  bound-girl,  to 
be  taken  to  Italy  and  beaten  into  a  stage-girl  to  fill  his 
purse?  Or  is  she  our  naughty  Madame  la  Baronne, 
slipping  out  of  France,  and  this  singer,  her  lover,  aid- 
ing her  escape?  Venire  bleu!  Ladies  of  title  have 
loved  tenors  before  this." 

Then  the  grandeur  of  the  song  floating  out  to  him 
touches  his  artistic,  old  soul,  and  makes  him  applaud 
beneath  his  breath;  and  he  mutters:  " Diable!  That 
chap  rivals  that  fellow  Rubini,  who,  ten  years  ago,  at 
Des  Italiennes,  set  Paris  crazy !  " 


114  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

CHAPTER   X. 

THE  PURSUING  SHADOW. 

Da  Messina,  who  has  finished  some  very  early  busi- 
ness with  the  English  arms  dealer,  is  rising  from  his 
breakfast,  his  hostess  wishing  him  bon  voyage. 

"  Estelle  ?  "  he  queries,  in  hurried  anxiety,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "  She  should  be  here." 

"  Cospetto !  "  replies  La  Brisco,  angrily.  "  When  I 
awakened  mademoiselle  this  morning,  as  you  directed, 
she  was  sulky;  said  she  didn't  want  to  go  to  Italy.  So 
I  said  to  her :  '  Oho !  What  you  want,  my  lazy  one, 
is  a  little  of  thy  padrone's  stick ! ' ' 

"  Morbleu,  you  must  have  frightened  the  poor  child 
to  death!  "  ejaculates  Carlo,  distress  upon  his  face. 

"  I  did  not,"  dissents  La  Brisco,  dryly.  "  The  poor 
child  grew  like  a  tigress,  shook  her  rebellious,  little  fist 
at  me,  and  called  me  a  harridan.  But  I  have  a  way 
with  girls,"  she  continues.  "I  cheered  mademoiselle 
up  by  telling  her  she  would  be  great  some  day ;  that 
already  she  had  charmed  our  new  waiter,  who,  having 
caught  her  voice  at  her  exercises,  has  been  asking  all 
the  questions  in  the  world  about  the  beautiful  song- 
stress. Then  pride  made  our  song-bird  very  lively. 
She  bustled  about  at  a  great  rate,  I  can  tell  you.  Her 
trunk  is  packed,  and  she  is  all  ready  for  the  journey. 
But  in  Italy  you'll  have  to  tame  her !  " 

"  Hush !  "  mutters  il  cavaliere,  hastily,  "  she's  com- 
ing !  "  as  his  apprentice  joins  him. 

Though  Estelle  looks  very  innocent  in  her  little, 
brown  dress,  there  is  a  latent  mutiny  in  her  bright 
eyes,  and  her  nose  is  altogether  too  haughty  for  a 
bound-girl. 

She  is  about  to  take  a  seat  at  the  table  in  a  languid, 
debonair,  supercilious  way,  when  La  Brisco  cries, 
sharply:  "  Where  are  your  manners,  child?  " 

And,  perchance  being  moved  to  her  action  by  a  glint 
in  Da  Messina's  eyes,  Madame  la  Baronne  makes  a 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTAL1S.  1 15 

scant  courtesy,  but  contradicts  the  salute  by  a  very 
savage  "  Good  morning,  mio  padrone!" 

"  Good  morning,  Estelle !  "  he  answers,  quickly ;  and, 
apparently  not  wishing  discussion,  says :  "  Your  break- 
fast will  be  brought  to  you.  I  have  finished  mine,  and 
must  attend  to  my  packing,  and  settling  madame's  bill." 
With  this,  he  goes  hastily  into  his  room,  a  very  troubled 
look  upon  his  face,  while  La  Brisco,  stepping  out  also, 
looks  at  his  haughty  apprentice,  shrugs  her  plump 
shoulders,  and  thinks,  grimly :  "  I  pity  Miss  Terma- 
gant's poor  padrone.  Diavolo!  He  hasn't  strength 
enough  to  conquer  the  waywardness  of  this  child,  who 
is  kicking  her  surly  feet  about  under  the  table." 

Estelle  is  still  in  a  haughty  mood  when  the  art-loving 
waiter  of  the  Hotel  Tarascon  trips  lightly  in,  his  slip- 
pered feet  scarce  sounding  on  the  floor,  and  arranges 
deftly  the  breakfast  of  the  bound-girl. 

Scarce  heeding  him,  this  young  lady  seems  to  be  re- 
garding bitterly  a  very  short  skirt  which  displays  a 
pair  of  pretty  feet  in  stout,  high-laced  French  bottines, 
provided  by  the  common-sense  of  La  Brisco.  As  he 
places  the  omelet  before  her,  she  stamps  a  little  foot  in 
impotent  rage. 

But  he  simply  waits  upon  her,  though  every  move- 
ment of  the  graceful  creature  is  under  his  sharp  eye. 
She  finishes  a  half-eaten  breakfast,  and  he  says,  polite- 
ly :  "  Mademoiselle,  might  I  trouble  you  to  sign  the 
check,"  and  places  her  account  before  her. 

In  listless  manner,  Estelle  has  produced  her  little 
purse,  and  placed  a  silver  franc  upon  the  table.  She  is 
drawing  off  a  glove  for  her  little  hand  to  write  a  name 
that  would  probably  betray  her,  when  there  darts  from 
the  chamber  of  her  master  a  man,  with  savage  eye 
and  hasty  mien,  who  says,  sternly :  "  Squandering  my 
money,  you  brat !  The  six  francs  I  let  you  put  in  your 
pocket  to  show  people  that  I  was  not  a  miser !  "  Then 
he  cries  to  the  waiter :  "  I  pay  my  own  bills ;  take  that 
to  the  office,  and,  that  you  may  see  that  I  am  not  a 
stingy  Italian,  here  are  five  centimes  for  thy  pour  boire. 


Il6  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

Off  with  you !  Estelle,  get  your  cloak  on  at  once ! " 
His  manner  is  so  ferocious  that  the  waiter  disappears 
without  another  word,  leaving  the  girl  gazing  in  speech- 
less horror  upon  this  cruel  man  who  rules  her. 

But  she  has  scarce  time  for  fear!  After  a  hasty 
glance  at  the  entrance,  to  be  sure  that  the  waiter 
is  truly  gone,  this  man  of  strange  moods  slams  the 
door  to;  then,  flying  to  his  affrighted  charge,  he  ten- 
derly takes  her  in  his  strong  arms,  and,  lifting  her  up, 
shudders :  "  God  forgive  me !  I  have  frightened  you ! 
That  was  the  waiter  whom  I  fear — the  one  who  was  so 
curious  about  your  actions.  Your  movement  was  that 
of  a  lady  accustomed  to  paying  her  own  bills  at  restaur- 
ants. That  franc — the  fee  a  countess  might  give  for 
that  little  breakfast !  What  may  he  not  suspect  ?  What 
may  he  not  think ?"  Then  a  change  comes  into  his  voice; 
he  says,  commandingly :  "  From  now  on,  no  more  mu- 
tiny. Your  servitude  is  your  safety  in  France.  Don't 
torture  me  by  making  me  feel  I  am  a  brute  to  you, 
even  if  I  seem  cruel.  You  have  common-sense  enough 
to  know  the  reason  of  a  harshness  that  drives  me  dis- 
tracted whenever  your  eyes  have  anguish  in  them.  I 
fear  this  man  will  follow  me.  No  words,  no  actions, 
no  looks  must  betray  that  you  are  anything  but  my 
bound-girl ;  that  I  am  aught  but  thy  padrone,  who  will 
coin  thy  talents  into  money,  and  beat  thee  if  thou  art 
rebellious.  Now,  this  is  my  last  apology  to  thee." 
Holding  her  before  him,  there  is  a  pleading  in  his 
twitching  face.  She  utters  a  faint,  bashful  cry ;  it  seems 
as  if  he  would  kiss  her  lips,  but  he  only  presses  a  burn- 
ing salute  upon  her  little  hands,  twice,  very  tenderly. 

"  Ah,  now  that  you  are  kind  to  me,  I  am  not  afraid 
of  you !  "  she  says,  in  pretty  pathos. 

Then  his  demeanor  astounds  her  more.  "  Now  I 
should  frighten  you !  "  he  mutters,  hoarsely,  and  gazes 
at  her  with  greedy  eyes ;  then,  in  loud  tones,  cries : 
"  Go,  get  on  your  wraps !  Quick !  Be  ready,  girl,  to 
take  the  boat  within  five  minutes." 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  Estelle,  looking  exceedingly 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  117 

pretty  and  very  shy,  is  brought  down  by  the  cavaliere 
to  a  waiting  carriage. 

Their  hostess  comes  out  to  say  a  last  adieu  to  Pergo- 
lese.  She  babbles  effusively :  "  Don't  let  my  friends  in 
Italy  forget  their  old  favorite  that  they  used  to  call  la 
bell'  Annina.  By  the  bye,"  she  adds,  "  that  waiter, 
who  loves  art,  was  so  frightened  by  your  brusqueness, 
Signore,  when  he  carried  up  Estelle's  breakfast,  that 
he's  left  the  hotel  without  his  wages !  "  and  wonders 
what  makes  Carlo  and  his  ward  look  so  disquieted  as 
they  drive  away  hastily  to  the  boat  that  takes  them  to 
Avignon,  from  whence  they  will  journey  by  diligence, 
and  partly  completed  railway,  to  Marseilles. 

And  they  have  cause  to  fear,  for,  after  them,  all  this 
day,  as  they  voyage  together  on  the  deck  of  the  steam- 
er or  journey  in  the  diligence  in  the  evening  that  carries 
them  to  Aries,  or  in  the  train  that  bears  them  into  Mar- 
seilles, even  in  the  darkness  of  the  great  tunnel  enter- 
ing that  town,  is  a  pursuing  shadow. 

Jacques  Parogue,  Vidocq's  oldest  and  slyest  mou- 
chard,  inspired  by  ten  thousand  francs'  reward,  has 
thought  it  well  to  bring  a  naughty  little  aristocrate  back 
to  justice. 

"  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis  is  to  be  looked  for." 

"  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis  has  disappeared, 
having  no  passport." 

"  Adele  Pichoir  is  dead,  but  Adele  Pichoir's  pass- 
port has  been  used  by  a  woman  going  to  Montereau." 

To  that  place  he  has  flown,  but  has  been  halted  by 
the  discovery  that  the  same  evening  after  the  arrival  of 
the  boat  a  lady  and  gentleman,  on  horseback,  left,  going 
toward  Montargis.  This  clew  he  has,  however,  found 
to  be  a  false  one. 

He  has  heard  of  a  man  and  a  woman  journeying  by 
post  to  Troyes  upon  a  single  passport,  stating  that  the 
man  is  an  Italian  padrone,  the  girl  his  apprentice. 

To  Troyes  he  has  gone,  but  has  found  no  trace  of 
the  passport  of  Adele  Pichoir;  the  reports  he  hears  of 
the  Italian  singer,  with  a  modest  and  retiring  girl  of 


Il8  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALlS. 

about  sixteen,  make  him  almost  hopeless.  Then  he 
catches  a  rumor  that  Madame  la  Baronne  and  her  par- 
amour lover,  by  the  aid  of  friends,  engaged  a  private 
carriage  in  Montereau  for  Orleans.  It  is  too  late  to 
follow  them  that  way.  If  they  go  toward  the  Mediter- 
ranean, they  are  quite  certain  to  come  to  Lyons;  there 
he  will  head  them  off. 

So,  twelve  hours  after  Da  Messina,  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, Parogue  had  put  his  acute,  old  phiz  into  that  town ; 
but,  finding  naught  of  a  lady  coming  from  Orleans, 
and  time  being  heavy  upon  his  hands,  the  old  detec- 
tive, who  is  an  industrious  fellow,  though  he  has  as 
yet  little  suspicion  in  that  direction,  thinks  he  may  as 
well  discover  what  he  can  about  the  Italian  singer  and 
the  girl  he  has  under  his  charge. 

Consequently,  inquiring  among  people  connected 
with  stage  and  opera,  he  chances  to  stumble  upon 
the  ex-wardrobe  mistress  of  the  Naples  theater. 

"  Oh,  I  know  Pergolese  very  well ! "  replies  the 
woman.  "  He  came  on  the  boat  with  me  from  Chalons. 
Italy  thinks  him  a  great  tenor,  and  I  think  him  a  very 
kind-hearted  fellow ;  for  here's  a  very  curious  state  of 
things — he  has  an  apprentice  who  loves  her  padrone." 

" Diable!  Loves  him?  What  makes  you  think 
that?" 

"  Well,  he  jumped  overboard  from  a  Saone  boat  to 
save  a  fool  of  an  Austrian,  and  his  bound-girl  wept 
for  him  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  What  made  me 
notice  it  was  the  little  stage  trollop's  using  a  handker- 
chief as  dainty  as  any  fine  lady's.  Ma  foi!  It  had  a 
coronet  stamped  in  its  corner!  There's  cheek  for  a 
chorus  girl." 

"  Humph !  Perhaps  it  was  because  Pergolese  has  a 
small  Italian  title,"  remarks  the  mouchard,  but  goes 
away  hastily,  and  this  coroneted  handkerchief,  with 
some  small  things  he  notices,  as,  two  hours  after,  he 
gazes  upon  the  Italian  and  his  charge  on  the  hill  Des 
Fourvieres,  make  him  sufficiently  interested  in  Da  Mes- 
sina's protegee  to  take  the  post  of  extra  waiter  at  the 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  IIQ 

crowded  Hotel  Tarascon.  Here  enough  suspicions 
come  to  him  to  make  him  go  further,  though  he  notices 
the  girl  is  strictly  governed  and  kept  well  to  her  work. 
He  is  also  acquainted  with  the  visit  of  the  British  arms 
manufacturer  in  the  dead  of  night  to  the  room  of  the 
Italian;  for  very  little  escapes  his  red,  ferret  eyes. 

So  it  chances  that  an  old  revolutionary  officer  comes 
on  the  boat  shortly  after  Da  Messina  and  his  charge 
at  Lyons.  He  has  grizzled  hair,  well-trimmed  and 
tight-twisted,  waxed  mustachioes,  an  empty  sleeve  for 
the  left  arm,  "  lost  at  Waterloo  when  I  was  one  of 
Kellermann's  cuirassiers,''  he  states  to  some  inquiring 
passengers.  In  a  quiet  way  he  smokes  a  pipe  con- 
stantly, and  his  bright  eyes  at  times  twinkle  as  he 
notices  how  Estelle  is  embarrassed  by  her  short  skirts, 
which,  the  day  being  windy,  give  many  piquant  views 
of  exquisitely  graceful,  yet  extremely  well-developed 
limbs  for  her  tender  age. 

The  object  of  his  solicitude  has  dainty  manners,  this 
old  officer  remarks,  and  at  her  lunch  in  the  little  salon 
eats  like  an  aristocrat.  She  has  a  curious,  timid  man- 
ner of  hitching  down  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  This, 
however,  is  common  enough  in  growing  girls,  thougty 
these  do  it  defiantly,  as  if  to 'assert  a  greater  maturity 
than  belongs  to  them. 

To  contradict  this,  mademoiselle  is  apparently  strictly 
governed.  Her  guardian  seems  to  always  keep  his  eye 
upon  her.  Even  on  the  deck  of  the  steamboat,  slightly 
apart  from  the  throng  of  passengers,  she  is  required  to 
stand  before  her  padrone,  as  he,  seated  in  lazy  com- 
fort, hears  her  recite  her  lesson  in  Italian. 

Some  little  time  after  this,  mademoiselle,  having 
been  led  to  one  of  the  few  dingy  cabins  of  the  boat, 
which  has,  apparently,  been  engaged  by  her  governor, 
and  left  by  herself — for  the  tenor  is  smoking  a  cigar 
at  the  bow  of  the  boat — the  old  officer  contrives,  while 
passing  this  stateroom,  to  stumble,  and  in  that  stumble 
tries  the  door,  and  finds  that  it  is  locked. 

"Venire  fyleu!"  he  mutters,     "Mademoiselle  has 


I2O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

been  naughty,  and  is  locked  up.  That  would  not  hap- 
pen to  a  baroness  under  the  escort  of  her  lover."  In 
this  he  deceives  himself,  however,  as  Estelle,  for  her 
own  privacy,  has  fastened  the  door  upon  herself. 

This  discovery  has  such  an  effect  upon  the  old  gen- 
darme that  he  thinks  it  hardly  worth  while  to  travel 
farther,  and  has  already  made  up  his  mind  to  desert 
the  boat  when  it  reaches  Valence;  but  before  this,  one 
or  two  little  things  occur  to  again  arouse  his  suspicions 
and  make  him  journey  on. 

The  girl,  apparently  released  from  her  confinement, 
has  been  brought  upon  deck  by  her  guardian,  who  is 
showing  her  some  of  the  famous  ruined  castles  upon 
the  right  bank  of  the  river.  Such  attention  from  a  pa- 
drone is  suspicious.  Besides,  the  deck  being  quite  slip- 
pery from  some  leaves  of  vegetables  brought  on  at 
St.  Vallier,  she  nearly  falls,  but  is  caught  up,  and  car- 
ried to  a  neighboring  chair  with  such  consideration  that 
the  mouchard  is  astounded.  Then  a  grim  smile  ripples 
his  face,  for  he  sees  that  the  arm  that  supports  the 
slender  waist  is  pressing  it  with  a  lover's  tender  ardor. 

"Parbleu!"  he  communes  with  himself.  "He  may 
be  her  padrone,  but  this  man  also  loves  this  girl.  At 
Marseilles  I  shall  have  some  certain  proof  whether  this 
pretty,  shrinking  thing  is  my  naughty,  little  Baronne 
or  no." 

So,  after  a  time,  as  the  boat  is  approaching  Monteli- 
mart,  just  before  dusk,  he  steps  up  to  Estelle,  who  is 
for  the  moment  alone  upon  the  deck,  and,  with  the 
prerogative  of  extreme  age,  says :  "  You  seem  to  be 
interested  in  the  sights  of  the  Rhone,  Mademoiselle. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  the  tale  of  an  old  soldier  about 
that  tumble-down  castle  upon  yonder  hill  ?  Fifty  years 
ago  it  was  a  military  prison.  When  I  was  a  lieutenant, 
after  the  Italian  war,  we  had  two  thousand  Austrian 
prisoners  there,  and  I  commanded  a  guard  of  but 
twenty  men  —  we  needed  the  rest  in  Italy,  Egypt, 
and " 

"  I  beg  you,  Monsieur,  I  am  not  permitted  to  talk 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  121 

to  gentlemen,"  falters  the  addressed  one,  with  a  start 
of  consternation. 

"  Pish !  I  am  too  old  to  hurt  you,  my  timid  but- 
terfly !  "  he  guffaws. 

"  But — but,  sir,  my  padrone !  He  is  so  stern  with 
me!" 

She  raises  her  hand  pathetically,  as  Da  Messina  is 
striding  toward  them. 

"  Ah,  then  I'll  not  get  thee  into  trouble,"  growls 
the  old  fighter,  who  seems  to  be  quite  well  pleased,  as 
he  withdraws,  for  upon  the  wedding  finger  of  his  sus- 
pect's white  hand  is  a  slight,  red  mark,  where  a  ring 
had  rested  once. 

"  Morbleu,"  he  thinks,  "  Madame  la  Baronne  is  a 
widow!  "  then  mutters:  " Peste!  Her  face  is  too  in- 
nocent !  She  could  not  have  done  the  crimes  of  which 
they  accuse  La  Portalis."  But  after  a  moment  his 
mind  changes,  and  he  cogitates :  "  I  have  read,  though, 
that  Brinvillers  had  the  face  of  an  angel,  yet  history 
says  she  poisoned  half  a  regiment.  Tonnerre  de  Dieu! 
If  I  had  but  a  daguerreotype !  These  sun  pictures  are 
not  very  good,  but  they  will  have  better  some  day, 
and  then,  when  railroads  are  built  all  over  France, 
and  this  new,  great  thief-catcher,  the  electric  telegraph, 
of  which  we  have  had  a  little  taste  between  Paris  and 
Calais,  is  sending  messages  in  no  time  everywhere — 
there  is  a  bad  time  coming  for  flying  criminals." 

So,  the  old  campaigner  smokes  his  pipe  content- 
edly, as  the  boat,  a  few  hours  after,  runs  up  to  the 
landing  at  Avignon.  From  that  point  he  follows  his 
engaging  suspect  by  diligence  and  train  until,  at  about 
eleven  o'clock  this  night,  she  and  her  guardian  reach 
the  great  commercial  city  of  Marseilles,  that  lies  be- 
side the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean. 

All  this  time,  to  the  appealing  eyes  of  his  ward,  Da 
Messina  seems  to  be  getting  more  anxious.  Estelle  has 
already  told  him  of  the  old  Napoleon  campaigner's  ad- 
vances to  her.  At  Avignon,  Carlo  has  cast  some  pierc- 
ing glances  at  this  man,  and  what  he  sees  is  by  no 


122  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

means  satisfactory.  Later,  at  Marseilles,  as  the  crowd 
jostle  each  other  in  what  was  at  that  time  the  little 
railway  station,  the  Italian  appears  to  be  pushed 
against  the  old  warrior,  brushing  quite  heavily  upon 
the  veteran's  empty  sleeve.  From  this  moment,  Pergo- 
lese,  to  his  bound-girl,  seems  to  be  frenzied.  He  goes 
out  of  the  station  and  cries  loudly  in  far-reaching  tones : 
"  A  hack  for  the  Hotel  de  Naples !  Quick !  For  the 
Naples  in  a  hurry !  Double  pour  boire  to  the  man  who 
drives  fast !  " 

Of  course,  half  a  dozen  hackmen  fight  for  this  gen- 
erous fare.  This  delays  him  a  minute.  But,  selecting 
one  rather  deliberately,  in  curious  contrast  to  his  rapid 
tones,  he  hurries  his  charge  to  the  little  Italian  hotel 
called  the  Naples,  near  the  Old  Port,  on  the  Rue  Beau- 
veau. 

As  they  drive  along  the  street,  looking  through  the 
rear  window  of  the  coupe,  Estelle  whispers :  "  Mise- 
ricorde!  He  is  following  us!  " 

"  In  another  hack  ?  Bravo !  That's  what  I  wanted 
him  to  do !  "  returns  Carlo,  vindictively. 

As  they  alight  at  the  hotel,  Estelle  notices  that  the 
place,  which  is  very  convenient  for  passengers  on  the 
Mediterranean  boats,  it  being  close  to  the  Old  Port,  in 
which  the  steamers  docked,*  seems  to  be  frequented  by 
a  goodly  portion  of  the  Italian  colony  of  this  great 
French  seaport.  The  Naples  is  also  just  large  enough 
to  give  privacy. 

At  her  governor's  hasty  direction,  they  are  imme- 
diately shown  up  to  their  rooms,  on  the  third  floor, 
three  en  suite — parlor  and  two  bedrooms  opening  off. 
The  passages  leading  to  their  apartments  in  the  dark- 
ness of  almost  midnight  are  quite  deserted.  Da  Mes- 
sina, who  seems  to  know  the  place,  has  selected  a  quiet 
portion  of  the  house. 

Instead  of  ordering  supper,  the  moment  he  and  Es- 
teile  are  alone,  he  says :  "  Take  off  your  jacket,  girl ! 

*  The  grand  new  docks  upon  the  Quai  de  la  Joliette  were  not  open  to 
commerce  till  1850.— ED. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  123 

Unbind  your  hair,  and  toss  it,  disheveled,  over  your 
shoulders !  "  He  presses  his  hand  to  his  brow,  and  his 
eyes  become  agonized.  "  You  will  forgive  me  ?  "  he 
begs.  "  You  must  forgive  me  for  this !  " 

"  Oh,  Heaven !    What  do  you  mean  to  do?  " 

"  The  only  thing  that  now,  I  think,  can  save  you." 

He  goes  hastily  out  of  the  room,  as  Estelle,  whose 
fingers  tremble  as  she  does  his  bidding,  tosses  off  her 
jacket  and  unbinds  her  hair.  In  a  dazed  kind  of  way 
she  notes  that  Carlo's  steps  are  very  quiet.  He  stands 
at  the  head  of  the  stairway  coming  up  to  the  little  cor- 
ridor which  touches  the  entrance  of  their  parlor.  After 
very  short  waiting,  he  glides  into  the  room,  closes  the 
door  hastily,  and  flies  to  her. 

She  gasps  in  affright,  and  buries  her  blushing  face 
in  her  hands,  for  he  has  torn  with  rapid  pluck  the 
slight,  brown  frock  from  off  her  shoulders. 

"  Now,"  he  whispers,  "  for  your  life,  moan  as  if  I 
were  torturing  you !  Beg  me  for  mercy !  Sigh  and 
scream,  but  not  to  alarm  the  house!  That's  it — that's 
it !  "  Then,  a  kind  of  frenzy  coming  into  his  eyes,  he 
mutters :  "  Pardon  me,  for  the  love  of  God !  "  and 
slaps,  quite  sharply,  her  delicate  shoulders  of  gleaming 
ivory  until  they  are  as  red  as  fire;  then  flies  to  the 
portal. 

And  she,  obeying  him,  in  a  frightened,  half-dis- 
tracted way,  moans,  and  begs,  and  pleads,  as  if  she 
were  a  bound-girl  being  scourged ;  while  he,  with 
quick  movement,  pulls  open  the  door,  seizes  a  one- 
armed  man  who,  apparently,  has  been  listening  to  the 
girl's  screams,  and  drags  him,  struggling,  in. 

"  Basta!  "  he  laughs,  jeeringly,  to  the  fighting  fellow. 
"  You've  bound  up  one  arm  to  trick  me,  Austrian 
spy !  Now  I  bind  up  the  other !  "  And,  with  a  scarf 
torn  from  his  waist,  he  ties  the  man,  who  struggles 
impotently  with  a  single  hand  against  the  fury  of  a 
strong,  young,  active,  and  desperate  antagonist. 

Then,  bound  and  helpless,  and  tossed  into  a  chair, 
old  Jacques  Parogue  curses  his  deft  disguise  that  has 


124  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

given  him  but  a  one-arm  power  to  fight  like  a  wildcat 
for  his  life;  for  a  long,  gleaming  razor-edge  stiletto 
is  at  his  throat,  and  this  wild-eyed  Italian  is  snarling: 
"  Ha,  ha !  Spy  of  the  Hapsburgs,  disguised  as  the 
old  soldier  of  the  revolution !  So  you  have  come  once 
more  to  attempt  to  trick  the  secret  of  '  Young  Italy  ' 
out  of  this  fool  girl,  who  chattered  to  thee  on  the  Lyons 
boat!  Dost  wish  to  get  her  beaten  again?  But  thy 
tongue  will  now  be  very  still !  " 

The  upraised  knife  tells  this  old  fellow,  who  has  been 
in  many  a  ticklish  place  before,  that  if  he  opens  his 
mouth  to  cry  for  help,  his  first  shriek  will  be  his  last. 

Therefore,  he  says,  shivering  a  little  before  the  gleam- 
ing blade :  "  I  am  no  damned  Austrian !  No  old  sol- 
dier of  France  loves  them  !  " 

"  Basta !  Not  love  them,  but  their  money !  Aus- 
trian gold  is  clinking  in  thy  pocket!  Otherwise,  why 
did  you  lurk  outside  my  chamber  in  the  Lyons  hotel, 
when  I  had  interview  with  the  English  arms  manufac- 
turer? Santo  Gennaro,  don't  lie  to  me,  with  shaking 
head,  when  you  should  be  praying  for  thy  soul !  Re- 
member, I  caught  you  listening  in  the  corridor,  and 
you  pretended  'twas  because  thou  lov'st  the  voice  of 
Pergolese." 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu!  You  recognize  me?"  snarls 
the  accused. 

"  And  why  not  ?  A  member  of  the  old  Carbonari  is 
cunning  at  detecting  the  agents  of  Austria.  You  are 
the  waiter  who  loved  art  last  night  at  Lyons,  and  to- 
day became  the  old  republican  officer.  You  must  be  an 
Austrian  spy;  otherwise,  why  did  you  follow  me — an 
Italian,  anxious  only  for  the  good  of  his  country? 
Peste!  I  can  not  believe  thee!  " 

The  dagger  is  raised  on  high,  as  if  it  would  be 
driven  straight  into  the  bound  man's  heart. 

But  he  mutters,  frantically:  "Norn  de  Dieu!  Hold 
thy  hand,  and  I'll  tell  you  why!  I  am  an  officer  of 
police  in  search  of  a  criminal." 

"  A  criminal  ?    Oho !    You  make  me  laugh !  " 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  125 

"  I  have  a  warrant  to  arrest  Madame  la  Baronne  de 
Portalis.  You  can  find  the  paper  in  my  pocket." 

"  Yes,  it  is  here,"  remarks  Carlo,  hastily,  holding 
up  a  document  that  makes  his  bound-girl  shiver  and 
cower  farther  from  him,  as  though  she  feared  her  stern 
master. 

"  Madame  la  Baronne  is  accused  of  forging  her  dead 
husband's  name  to  his  will,"  goes  on  the  mouchard, 
eager  to  convince.  "  It  is  also  whispered  that  she  put 
arsenic  in  the  old  gentleman's  tea,  like  that  petite  dia- 
blesse  Lafarge.  Likewise  it  is  known  that  she  is  young 
and  beautiful,  and  is  escaping  from  France  with  one  of 
her  lovers.  Pardon  me,  Monsieur.  I  thought  you  might 
be  the  lover,  and  that  " — he  glances  toward  the  shrink- 
ing girl,  who  has  shuddered  to  a  corner — "  might  be 
Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis." 

"  That  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Portalis !  "  guffaws 
the  Italian,  and,  seizing  Estelle  by  her  wrist,  he  swings 
her  round,  crying :  "  Show  Monsieur  your  red  shoul- 
ders !  "  and  jeers :  "  Madame  la  Baronne  has  been  well 
beaten  on  your  account,  Monsieur!  I  do  not  permit 
Madame  la  Baronne  to  speak  to  anyone." 

"  Bound  as  I  am,"  mutters  the  revolutionary  officer, 
"  I  tell  you,  it  is  a  dastard  thing  to  beat  a  poor  girl." 

"  Not  when  she  disobeys  strict  orders.  For,  being 
with  me,  she  might  betray  my  secrets,  which  are  the 
secrets  of  Italian  liberty." 

At  this,  Estelle  almost  destroys  herself,  for  she  begs 
wildly :  "  Don't  tell  him  more !  For  the  love  of  Heaven, 
don't  compromise  yourself !  " 

"  Shut  thy  fool  mouth !  "  scoffs  Carlo,  in  desperate 
voice.  "  Cospetto !  To  thy  room,  Madame  la  Baronne, 
and  get  thy  dress  off  for  the  scourging  I  shall  give  you 
for  making  all  this  trouble !  " 

Seizing  her  delicate  arm  in  apparent  savage  clasp,  he 
pushes  her  into  her  little  chamber,  slams  the  door  upon 
her,  and,  locking  it,  puts  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

To  the  old  mouchard,  bound  and  helpless,  this  Ital- 
ian seems  an  ogre  to  this  poor,  beaten  child,  as  he 


126  ADRIENNE    DE   PORTALIS. 

comes  back  and  seats  himself  calmly  before  his  cap- 
tive. Lighting  a  cigar,  he  observes,  easily :  "  I  have 
no  objection  to  your  knowing  an  Italian  conspirator, 
Monsieur,  because  you  dare  not  betray  one.  You  may 
be  a  great  policeman,  my  friend,  but  you  are  not  a 
very  good  politician,'or  you  would  be  aware  that,  since 
France  is  a  republic,  Austria,  the  ally  of  the  dethroned 
Louis  Philippe,  is  now  considered  the  enemy  of  France ; 
that  the  heads  of  your  government  are  now  the  friends 
of  '  Young  Italy ' ;  that  our  revolution  in  Lombardy 
and  Venice,  which  has  only  been  waiting  for  the  cry, 
"  France  is  free !  "  is  now  their  pet  political  nursling ! 
Learn  by  these  letters  from  Odilon  Barrot,  Cremieux, 
and  Carnot,  that,  if  I  say  the  word,  your  official  head — 
yes,  and  old  Vidocq's,  too — may  drop."  He  hurriedly 
produces  some  letters  that  bear  names  that  make  the 
old  gendarme  roll  his  eyes  in  a  groggy  way. 

'  There  is  a  greater  reason  why  your  secret  is  safe 
with  me,"  he  says,  doggedly :  "  I  have  fought  the  Aus- 
trians  too  often  under  le  Petit  Corporal  not  to  hate  them. 
Tonnerre  de  Dieu!  I  would  like  to  be  with  you  on 
the  plains  of  the  Adige.  Sacre  bleu!  I  was  a  drum- 
mer-boy then,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  the  bridge  of 
Lodi."' 

Something  in  the  man's  spirit  strikes  a  spark  from 
the  Italian's  eye.  "  Forgive  me,  friend  of  Italy.  I'll 
meet  them  in  your  place  within  the  month,"  he  whis- 
pers. "  But  here  "  —  he  is  untying  the  man  now  — 
"  here  is  a  gift,  not  to  keep  your  tongue  silent,  but  be- 
cause thou  art  a  friend."  He  puts  a  handful  of  gold 
in  the  old  detective's  hands,  adding :  "  Drink  the  health 
of  Italy  with  that,  and  make  your  comrades  the  friends 
of  free  Lombardy !  "  And  so,  going  to  the  door  with 
him,  to  be  very  sure  the  officer  really  takes  departure, 
Da  Messina  bows  out  a  friend  who  had  come  in  as  an 
enemy. 

So  the  detective,  who,  in  his  way,  is  a  philosopher, 
strolls  down  the  stairs  into  the  coffee-room  of  the 
Naples,  muttering :  "  Lover  of  liberty !  Yes,  Italian 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  12J 

liberty,  but  not  the  liberty  of  that  poor  devil  of  an 
apprentice  he  is  taking  to  Italy  to  make  a  slave.  Nom 
de  Dieu,  this  is  a  curious  world !  Parbleu,  but  his  hand 
is  liberal !  If  I  can  do  this  fellow,  who  sings  like  an 
angel,  a  good  turn  here,  Sac  a  papier!  I  am  at  his 
elbow." 

But  old  Parogue  would  think  this  a  more  curious 
world  could  he  look  into  the  parlor,  from  which  he  has 
just  emerged,  and  see  the  bound-girl  wringing  her 
hands,  and  crying :  "  Why  did  you  take  this  risk  upon 
your  life  to  save  me  ?  Here,  almost  at  the  Italian  fron- 
tier, this  man  may  be  an  Austrian  spy.  In  trying  to  take 
suspicion  from  me,  you  have  revealed  such  things  that, 
if  they  come  to  the  ears  of  Austria,  it  means  your 
death ! " 

"  Santa  Maria !    You  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  more  than  you  think !  I  heard  you 
bargain  last  night  with  the  English  manufacturer  of 
arms.  They  are  to  be  concealed  in  hay ;  they  are  to  be 
delivered  in  Genoa  by  the  I5th;  they  are  to  cross  the 
frontier  near  Tortone !  " 

At  this  revelation  the  conspirator  starts  back,  and 
stammers  ^  "  Grand  Dio,  you  know  the  secret  of  Mi- 
lan !  "  Then  his  face,  that  has  been  pale,  grows  red, 
and  his  eyes  appalling. 

"  Yes,  but  I  will  never  betray  you.  I  swear  it !  By 
the  Mother  of  God,  I  swear  it !  "  she  cries ;  then,  a  curi- 
ous intensity  coming  into  her  voice,  she  asks  again : 
"  Why  —  why  did  you  take  this  risk  for  me  —  a  fugi- 
tive?" 

"  Why  ?  "  For  ten  seconds  Da  Messina  hesitates ; 
then  her  disheveled  beauty,  as  she  half  crouches  at  his 
feet,  overcomes  him ;  his  face  becomes  soft  with  ten- 
der passion ;  he  mutters,  hoarsely :  "  Why  ?  Diavolo, 
because  I  love  thee,  little  one !  "  And,  the  tide  of  a 
mighty  emotion  breaking  down  its  floodgates,  he  pulls 
her  to  his  heart ;  but  almost  as  suddenly  puts  her  from 
him,  and  shudders :  "  It  is  an  infamy  to  tell  you  this, 
when  you  are  helpless  in  my  hands." 


128  ADRIENXE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  Misericorde !  You  tell  me  this  tale  of  love  because 
you  fear  I  will  betray  your  cause !  "  she  gasps. 

"  No,  no !  You  shall  not  think  me  dastard  enough 
for  that !  "  Then,  seizing  her  again,  he  looks  straight 
into  her  blushing  face,  and  whispers :  "I  love  thee, 
little  one ;  I  love  thee !  " 

And  she,  her  eyes  flaming  with  a  new  light — for 
this  widow  of  an  old  husband  has  never  loved  be- 
fore— twines  her  soft  arms  about  his  neck,  and,  cling- 
ing to  him,  murmurs :  "  Thou  hast  said  it !  I  am 
thine,  not  by  the  papers  of  my  bondage,  but  by  my  love 
for  thee,  my  ruler,  yet  my  protector !  " 

"  You  forgive  me?  " 

"  Yes !  Take  thy  right,  my  master !  "  and  she  holds 
up  to  him  a  pair  of  delicate,  arched  lips,  red  as  sea 
coral,  and  moist  as  sea  foam,  with  the  first  passion  of 
her  heart. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  this  widow  knows 
what  the  kiss  of  a  strong  man  means ! 

It  thrills  her,  it  charms  her,  yet  it  conquers  her.  She 
feels  that  she  is  no  more  her  own,  but  belongs  to  these 
great  arms  that  clasp  her  with  such  latent  power.  She 
knows  she  is  to  be  ruled,  yet  also  to  be  fondled,  ca- 
ressed, and  supported ;  and  before  her  open  all  the  de- 
lights of  a  woman's  first  love. 

The  little  room,  with  its  dim  lamplight  and  dingy 
furniture,  becomes  to  her  paradise,  for  it  holds  this 
handsome,  dark-eyed,  curly-haired  fellow,  whose  touch 
thrills  her  with  a  new  and  strange  rapture,  as  he  seats 
himself  and  draws  her,  like  a  child,  upon  his  knee, 
where  she  sits,  perched,  dangling  her  little  feet  about 
in  air,  and  clinging  to  him  as  if  he  were  the  Rock  of 
Ages. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  whispers.  "  You  pardon  my  ap- 
parent harshness,"  and  his  lips  offer  sweet  apology,  as 
he  kisses  the  ivory  shoulders  until  they  blush  red  again  ; 
then  remarks,  determinedly :  "  But  I  swore  that  no 
one  should  drag  you  from  me." 

"  Ah !  "  she  murmurs,  archly.     "  That  proves  you 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  1 29 

love  me  for  myself;  yeu   saved  me  because   I   was 
precious  to  you." 

"  In  addition,  it  was  necessary  to  so  arrange  the  af- 
fair that  no  suspicion  would  follow  you  to  give  you 
trouble  in  Italy,"  he  remarks,  in  cautious  tone.  "  When 
there,  after  a  little  time  I  shall  tear  up  thy  papers  of 
indenture,  and  shall  come  to  thee,  an  unfettered  woman, 
to  ask  the  gift  of  thy  life." 

"  You — you  are  going  to  put  me  from  you  ?  "  she 
falters.  Her  eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  she  pouts :  "  Now 
you  are  unkind !  " 

"  Scipristi!  Last  night,  little  one,  I  said  I  would 
hold  you,  and  you  burst  into  tears,"  he  laughs.  "  To- 
night I  say  you  shall  be  free,  and  I  am  told  I  am 
unkind  again.  Peste!  Will  nothing  please  thee?" 

"  Only  that  you  keep  me  thy  own  forever !  "  And 
she  puts  up  her  lips  that  are  so  clinging,  so  enticing, 
that,  for  his  own  sake  and  hers,  Da  Messina,  after  one 
moment's  rapture,  holds  her  from  him,  and  whispers : 
"  I  have  to  meet  some  friends  of  Italy  to-night." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  you  will  put  new  danger  upon  the  life 
I  love !  You  shall  not  go !  " 

"  I  must !  "  And,  as  if  he  feared  the  magic  of  her 
arms,  he  carries  her  to  her  little  chamber.  Despite 
caresses,  he  puts  Estelle  in,  locks  the  door  upon  her, 
and,  standing  in  the  parlor,  tosses  the  key  over  the 
transom  to  her,  and  says  :  "  Thy  safety,  little  one,  from 
an  infamous  padrone !  " 

But  she,  unlocking  the  door,  steps  out,  and  holds  the 
key  tremblingly  to  him,  whispering,  a  great  faith  in  her 
eyes :  "  Keep  it.  I  trust  thee !  Have  I  not  been  un- 
der thy  hand,  helpless,  for  six  days  and  nights  ?  Why 
should  I  believe  less  in  the  honor  of  the  man  I  love 
than  in  the  honor  of  the  man  I  feared  ?  " 

Putting  the  key  to  his  lips,  he  whispers  :  "  Mia  caris- 
sima  alma,  I  thank  thee !  "  then  salutes  her  hand  with 
the  stately  grace  of  an  old-time  cavalier,  and  so  leaves 
the  apartment. 


BOOK  III 
THE  TOUCH   OF  LOVB 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE     HAND    OF    BOLZA. 

They  are  to  take  breakfast  together  in  the  little  par- 
lor of  their  suite  at  the  Naples,  for  Da  Messina  thinks 
it  prudent  that  his  apprentice  be  not  seen  in  public  this 
morning.  Estelle's  appearance  would  be  too  joyous 
for  the  beaten  serf  that  some  in  this  hotel  may  think 
her,  either  from  the  babbling  of  the  old  officer  de 
surete,  or  from  her  plaintive  cries  to  dupe  that  mou- 
chard. 

So,  the  waiter,  having  placed  the  meal  upon  the 
table  and  disappeared,  and  the  door  being  locked,  Car- 
lo's sweetheart  flutters  out  to  him,  and,  with  a  de- 
mure courtesy,  whispers:  "Good  morning,  mio  pa- 
drone!" then  tenders  two  sweet  lips  for  his  pleasure, 
as  he  sees  before  him  what  would  be  a  fairy,  did  not 
her  radiant  face  have  traces  of  earth's  grandest  passion. 

Wishing  to  charm  the  eye  she  loves,  Estelle  is  in  a 
plain,  white  negligee,  a  relic  of  the  convent.  Fearful 
of  bringing  suspicion  upon  her  Italian  patriot,  for  it 
is  not  her  own  safety  of  which  she  now  thinks  most, 
his  apprentice  has  made  the  cambric  robe  de  chambre 
as  juvenile  as  her  previous  frocks.  Its  very  childish- 
ness gives  it  a  naive  abandon  that  adds  to  its  charm. 
Its  soft  veils  reveal  snowy  neck  and  rounded  arms. 
Fastened  only  at  the  waist  by  a  broad,  white  ribbon, 
its  skirt  floats  off  on  either  side  bouffantly,  after  the 
fashion  of  that  day,  to  permit  a  shorter  petticoat,  to 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  13! 

display  exquisite  limbs,  very  tightly  hosed  in  silk,  and 
slippered  most  attractively  in  bronze. 

"  Now,"  she  says,  archly,  after  she  has  received  a 
good-morning  kiss,  "  thou  hast  done  so  much  for  me, 
let  me  wait  upon  thee.  'Tis  a  bound-girl's  duty." 

But  he,  with  strong  arms,  putting  her  in  a  chair, 
insists  upon  attending  to  her  wants.  He  says  defer- 
entially :  "  In  strict  privacy,  Mademoiselle,  you  must 
let  me  apologize  by  my  courtesy  for  the  harshness 
which  I  may  be  compelled  to  assume  toward  you  be- 
fore the  public  eye." 

"I  have  been  thinking,  dear  one,"  she  whispers,  "  of 
my  duty  to  thee  in  the  strange  relations  that  have  come 
upon  us.  As  we  near  the  rule  of  Austria,  the  shadow 
which  is  rising  from  me  is  deepening  over  thy  head — 
the  head  I  love.  The  safety  of  your  life  is  partly  in 
my  hands.  No  severity  from  you,  to  prove  to  your 
tyrants  that  I  am  the  apprentice  you  went  to  France 
to  gain,  shall  make  me  do  aught  but  love  you  more, 
because  it  will  protect  the  life  I  love.  Treat  me  as 
thy  bound-girl  until  Italy  is  free." 

"  And  then,"  he  whispers,  taking  her  tenderly  in  his 
arms,  "  then  I  shall  give  you  a  happier  title." 

"  Yes,  but  until  that  time  "  —  she  looks  archly  at 
him  —  "  dost  think  I'll  make  a  pretty  child  ?  "  And, 
breakfast  being  over,  she  brings  him  the  Italian  gram- 
mar, and  prays :  "  Teach  me  the  language  that  I  love, 
because  it  is  the  language  of  my  lover." 

"  Sapristi!  It  is,  mia  cam,  anima  mia,  bell'  alma,  mia 
carissima  innamorata!"  He  has  her  in  his  arms.  "Yes, 
'tis  the  language  of  music,  of  art,  of  love !  Let's  hear 
thy  recitation." 

"  Yes,  mio  caro"  She  utters  the  Italian  love  term 
diffidently.  "  But  please  don't  stand  me  in  front  of 
you  !  I — I  seem  so  far  from  you !  " 

After  this  suggestion,  she  is  taken  upon  his  knee,  and, 
reciting  her  lesson  in  Italian  very  well,  she  pleads: 
"  For  it,  I  should  have  reward  !  " — and  gets  it ! 

Then,  to  his  accompaniment,  there  being  a  piano  in 


132  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

the  room,  she  sings  the  exercises  she  has  practiced-,  and 
Pergolese  knows  he  is  listening  to  a  woman  who  will 
become,  in  time,  one  of  the  famous  artistes  of  this 
earth,  for  the  only  thing  it  lacked,  a  soul,  has  come 
into  the  timbre  of  her  silver  voice,  to  make  it  fervid 
with  awakened  love,  that  passion  without  which  tech- 
nique is  trivial,  effort  is  fruitless,  and  song  is  dead. 

"  How  thy  beautiful  strains  linger  in  my  ear !  "  he 
whispers,  patting  her  shoulder.  "  Some  day,  dear  one, 
thou  wilt  make  others  cry,  as  thou  dost  me.  And 
now !  "  He  gives  her  a  few  more  exercises,  and  hums 
to  her  some  appoggiaturas,  directing :  "  Sing  these 
over  many  times.  'Twill  make  the  time  fly,  for  I 
have  many  important  things  to  arrange  in  this  town." 

"Yes,  yes!     I  know,"  she  sighs. 

"  Besides,  I  must  engage  our  passage  upon  Friday's 
boat  for  Genoa." 

At  this,  a  sudden  joy  ripples  Estelle's  face.  "  Fri- 
day's boat !  "  she  cries.  "  And  this  is  but  Wednes- 
day, in  the  early  morning!  Then  there  is  time  for 
me  to  get  some  better  frocks  than  these  two  poor, 
cheap  things  La  Brisco  bought.  They  were  good 
enough  for  thy  bound-girl,  but  not  for  thy  betrothed." 
Then  she  pleads :  "  Trust  me ;  the  new  ones  shall  keep 
me  just  as  juvenile  as  these.  Please,  mio  padrone!" 
and  begs  him  with  all  her  woman's  heart  to  give  her 
a  chance  to  look  well  in  the  eyes  of  him  she  loves. 

A  little  cajolery  procures  the  boon;  Da  Messina  is 
disposed  to  grant  her  every  indulgence  compatible  with 
their  situation.  So  they  stroll  off  together  to  modistes' 
and  various  other  shops  for  feminine  adornment. 

Coming  back  from  these,  in  their  little  parlor  she 
puts  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  falters :  "  Fancy, 
if  they  had  not  called  me  a  criminal,  I  would  not  now  be 
in  thy  arms !  " 

"  Sh — h !  Not  a  word  !  Forget  your  past !  "  he 
commands,  almost  sternly,  placing  his  finger  upon  her 
lips,  and  so  leaves  the  room. 

And  she,  looking  after  him,  thinks :    "  O  glorious 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  133 

change  !  To-day  all  is  bright ;  yesterday  all  was  gloom, 
when  I  feared — O  Heaven,  I  fear  it  still !  If  these 
French  officials  should  drag  me  from  my  Carlo !  But 
the  people  of  the  hotel  must  know  the  apprentice  is 
at  work." 

Running  nervously  to  the  piano,  she  commences  to 
ripple  out  the  brilliant  exercises  that  have  been  set  for 
her.  Her  voice  is  so  happy  that  it  astounds  an  Italian 
lady,  of  scarce  twenty-four  years  of  age,  yet  looking 
hardly  twenty-two,  very  beautiful,  and  fashionably 
gowned,  and  of  distinguished  manner,  who  cautiously 
approaches  the  door  of  the  little  apartment. 

This  lady,  as  she  listens,  thinks : "  'Tis  strange  this 
beaten  serf  of  an  Italian  padrone  has  a  voice  so 
buoyant." 

But,  knocking  at  the  door,  and  hearing  "  Entre!" 
she  steps  into  the  parlor,  and  sees  a  graceful  girl, 
garbed  as  a  child,  spring  up  from  the  piano  in  aston- 
ishment at  this  unexpected  intrusion.  To  Estelle  this 
visitor  says,  pleasantly :  "  Excuse  me,  little  one,  I  am 
the  Contessa  di  Vilermo.  Last  night,  poor  child,  I 
heard  your  sobs  when  you  were  chastised.  I  have 
come  to  offer  my  consolation,  also  my  aid,  against  the 
severity  of  this  Pergolese,  who,  though  he  is  a  grand 
singer,  is  to  thee  a  great  brute." 

The  answer  she  receives  astounds  this  lady  of  many 
intrigues,  much  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  an  acute- 
ness  born  of  the  devil  and  the  instructions  of  il  Conte 
Bolza,  the  astute  head  of  the  Austrian  police  in  Lom- 
bardy. 

"  Madame,"  says  Estelle,  blushing  with  humiliation, 
"  my  padrone  does  his  duty  by  me,  and  is  generally 
quite  good  to  me,  if  I  am  good.  But  I  trust  you  will 
not  again  bring  his  displeasure  upon  me,  for  I  have 

a  long  lesson  and  many  exercises  to  practice.  I " 

She  glances  at  the  door. 

'''  Then  continue  your  exercises  before  me,"  purrs  the 
lady,  sweetly.  "  I  heard  your  lovely  voice  from  the 
corridor.  Let  me  remain  and  enjoy  some  more  of  it," 


134  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS, 

and,  apparently  not  thinking  the  assent  of  a  tJotin'd-girl 
necessary,  she  sinks,  languidly,  into  an  easy-chair,  and 
in  pleasant  entreaty  urges :  "  Please  go  on !  t)on't 
let  me  interrupt  you.  I  love  music  as  well  as  you. 
The  little  that  I  heard  outside  causes  me  to  think  thou 
hast  a  voice  of  great  future.  Perchance  his  ambition 
for  thy  success  makes  Pergolese  harsh  to  thee." 

"  Oh,  he  is  goodness  itself !  "  cries  the  girl ;  then,  as 
if  in  contradiction  to  her  words,  murmurs :  "  When 
I  do  my  lessons  well." 

"  Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  let  me  disturb  you, 
child!  Go  on  and  sing  for  me,  and  I  will  tell  you 
whether  I  think  you  will  become  a  diva" 

So,  embarrassed  by  a  kindness  she  scarce  knows  how 
to  repulse,  and  thinking  singing  will,  perhaps,  keep  her 
tongue  from  saying  things  best  left  unuttered,  Estelle, 
who  has  gained  confidence  from  the  praise  of  a  man 
she  knows  is  a  supreme  judge  of  music,  inspired  by 
happiness,  lifts  up  her  voice,  and  sings  her  exercises  and 
appoggiaturas. 

As  she  closes,  she  finds  two  shapely  arms  clasped 
about  her,  and  a  very  spirituelle  face,  with  bright  blue 
eyes,  and  eyebrows  penciled  like  Diana's  bow,  looking 
over  her  shoulder,  while  two  cunning  lips  whisper  to 
her  pretty  ear  the  most  pleasant  words  to  which  an 
aspirant  for  the  stage  can  listen :  "  Darling,  you  will 
some  day  be  famous !  " 

"  Oh,  you  think  so !  "  cries  the  girl,  in  ecstasy.  "  It 
is  my  hope  in  life  that  some  day  I  shall  sing  with  him. 

When  he  sings,  I  feel "  Estelle  checks  herself,  but 

her  eyes  tell  a  curious  tale  to  this  lady  of  astute  mind, 
as  she  inspects  the  blushing  face. 

"  You  only  need  greater  confidence ;  that  will  come  by 
work.  Under  Pergolese's  instructions,  you  will  soon 
gain  technique.  Bravo,  canary  bird!  I  expect  some 
day  to  throw  my  bouquet  at  thy  feet  at  La  Sea  la,  or 
San  Carlo,  or  perhaps  even  Des  Italiennes,  Paris," 
observes  her  critic,  artfully  making  a  step  toward  the 
trust  of  Estelle  by  that  subtle  influence  that  has  ruined 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  135 

more  men  and  women  than  any  other  ruse  since  Eve 
gave  Adam  the  apple — flattery. 

This  patting  on  the  back ;  this  crafty  saying,  "  You 
are  great  " ;  this  worship — dearest  of  all  things  in  this 
world  to  actress  and  prima  donna — makes  the  young 
songstress  look  with  cordial  eyes  upon  her  visitor. 

"  You — you  think  I  will  stand  upon  the  boards  with 
him  ?  "  she  gasps. 

" Pardi!  Why  not,  in  a  little  time?  Pergolese  is 
engaged  at  La  Scala;  why  should  you  not  warble 
'  Lucia '  to  his  '  Edgardo  '  ?  You'd  sing  the  music  of 
the  mad  scene  as  well  as  Sophie  Olinska,  who,  it  is 
said,  owes  half  of  her  success  to  your  maestro 's  sug- 
gestions." 

"  This  O — Olinska !  "  stammers  Estelle,  her  eyes 
bright  with  both  curiosity  and  jealousy.  She  remem- 
bers Radetzky's  words — "  epris  with  the  greatest  tenor 
in  Italy."  These  strike  her  heart;  but  the  light  bab- 
bling of  this  lady,  who  seems  to  be  in  confidential  mood, 
now  tortures  her. 

"  Yes,  have  you  not  heard  of  Pergolese's  amour  with 
Olinska?  Two  years  ago  'twas  the  chatter  of  Milan 
and  Venice.  But  thou  art  too  much  of  a  child  to 
understand  such  things.  Good-by !  If  you  have  need 
of  friend,  call  upon  Eugenia  di  Vilermo." 

With  the  highest  art,  this  lady  of  intrigue  does  not 
linger,  after  making  her  effect,  and,  with  a  kiss  that, 
being  permitted,  tells  her  she  has  made  the  first  step 
toward  intimacy,  she  takes  her  leave  of  Estelle. 

In  her  own  pretty  parlor,  but  a  few  rooms  away, 
Eugenia  laughs :  "  This  bound-girl  loves  her  maestro. 
She'll  get  very  close  to  this  conspirator's  state  secrets, 
and  I'll  soon  get  very  close  to  la  petite  Estelle.  Be- 
sides, there  was  a  jealous  flash  in  her  eyes.  I'll  be  in 
the  devil's  luck  if  I  can't  report  to  the  Conte  Bolza 
what  is  the  real  business  which  has  brought  to  France 
this  Italian,  who  sings,  but  still  conspires  against  the 
powers  that  be." 

Then  her  face  suddenly  grows  pallid.     She  sighs  a 


136  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

curious  plaint:  "  The  powers  that  be!  I  must  report; 
this  is  my  last  chance !  That  accursed  Signor  Benuchio 
keeps  one  eye  upon  Italian  conspirators,  the  other  al- 
ways upon  me !  "  She  wrings  her  delicate  fingers,  and 
says,  resolutely :  "  Yes,  I  must  go  back ;  but  I  shall 
bring  a  present  with  me  that  will  make  Bolza  pass  a 
sponge  over  the  name  of  Eugenia  di  Vilermo  upon  his 
delinquent  slate.  This  bound-girl,  who  loves  her  stern 
padrone,  shall  play  my  cards  for  me.  She  has  a  jeal- 
ous heart." 

The  subtle  Italian  is  right.  In  Da  Messina's  par- 
lor the  flash  is  still  in  Estelle^s  eyes.  She  has  for- 
gotten her  music,  and  is  clenching  her  hands,  and 
muttering  in  broken  voice :  "  Pergolese's  amour  with 
Olinska  two  years  ago  the  babble  of  Milan  and 
Venice !  "  then  sobs,  in  feminine  unreason :  "  /  never 
loved  before !  " 

Yet,  a  moment  after,  she  comforts  herself  with : 
"  But  two  years  ago  he  did  not  know  that  I  existed," 
and  so,  with  better  heart,  begins  again  her  vocal  ex- 
ercises. Just  here,  chancing  to  glance  at  her  padrone's 
watch,  that  he  has  left,  as  before,  to  limit  her  exertions 
to  a  single  continuous  hour,  her  eyes  light  up. 

Upon  the  inside  of  its  heavy,  golden  cover  is  en- 
graved :  "  Presented  to  Pergolese  by  Venezia."  The 
triumph  of  the  man  she  loves  is  her  triumph !  This 
magnificent  timepiece  is  a  present  from  a  great  Ital- 
ian city. 

Then,  led  by  the  devil,  she  searches  for  more  inscrip- 
tions to  the  honor  of  Pergolese.  In  doing  this,  her 
agile  fingers  press  the  reverse  side  of  the  watch.  Joy 
changes  to  misery,  for  the  case,  flying  open,  discloses  a 
miniature  of  ivory,  from  out  which  a  beautiful  woman 
is  gazing  at  her.  She  knows  that  this  is  her  rival's 
portrait.  The  blue  eyes  tell  of  Hungary ;  the  white 
robe  of  a  Druid  priestess  and  crown  of  mistletoe  de- 
note a  prima  donna  in  the  character  of  "  Norma." 
She  glances  at  the  passionate,  yet  lovely,  face.  She 
inspects  the  almost  perfect  symmetry  of  neck,  arms, 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  137 

and  bust,  that  spring  in  snowy  beauty  from  their  light 
draping,  and  murmurs :  "  Too  beautiful  for  me  to  fight 
against!  In  Milan,  when  he  again  sees  her,  he  will 
forget  his  bound-girl !  "  Tears  run  down  her  delicate 
cheeks,  and  the  delicate  but  passionate  mouth  whimpers. 

A  widow  in  her  first  love  is  generally  a  jealous 
fiancee,  and,  though  Estelle  tries  to  wipe  away  her  tears, 
red  eyes  greet  Da  Messina's  return. 

His  quick  glance  perceives  that  she  whom  he  left  a 
rosebud  has  now  become  a  lily. 

"  What  has  come  to  you,  my  own  ?  "  he  questions, 
anxiously,  closing  the  door. 

But  she  shakes  her  head,  dreading  to  tell  him  of 
the  visit  she  had  received,  for  then  she  will  be  com- 
pelled to  explain  the  cause  of  her  tears. 

"  Has  it  aught  to  do  with  thy  safety  ?  " 

"  No." 

"With  mine?" 

"  No.  Only,  I — I  am  unhappy."  Tears  are  still  in 
the  lovely  eyes. 

"  Ah,  thou  hast  been  lonely,  little  one  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  must  tell  me."  His  tone  is  one  she  dares 
not  disobey.  She  is  opening  her  mouth  to  give  him 
word  of  the  contessa's  visit ;  she  is  blushing  with  shame 
at  the  thought  that  she  must  confess  that  she  is  jeal- 
ous of  this  man's  love  for  another,  when,  by  unhappy 
chance,  the  open  watch  meets  his  eye. 

"  Diavolo !  Was  it  this?  "  he  asks,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  pointing  to  the  beautiful  miniature. 

"Y-e-s." 

"Oho!  Thou  hast  been  jealous  of  me?"  A  tinge 
of  triumph  is  on  his  face. 

"  Yes.  Thou  didst  not  tell  me  thou  hadst  loved 
before." 

"  Of  course  I  did  not,  dear  one !  Why  should  I  tor- 
ture thy  tender  heart  by  the  hundred  past  amourettes 
of  a  young  tenor?  I  did  not  know  there  was  such  a 
charming,  little  lady  in  the  world  as  thee  until  seven 


138  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

days  ago — ah,  what  a  wondrous  week!  All  that  I 
promise  you  is  my  love  from  now  eternal !  Didst  I 
reproach  thee  because  thou  once  hadst  a  husband?  1 
only  say  to  thee,  thou  art  the  first  woman  1  ever  asked 
to  be  my  wife.  Is  not  that  proof  enough  I  love  thee?  " 

"  Yes,  but  /  wedded  once,  and  did  not  love,"  she 
answers,  archly,  and  is  pleased  to  see  that  mention  of 
former  husband  shocks  Pergolese  strongly. 

He  replies,  hoarsely :  "  Don't  dare  to  speak  to  me 
of  that  man  again !  He  is  an  agony  to  me !  Forget 
him !  Forget  thy  past !  " 

The  passion  of  her  answer  astounds  him.  "  I  have 
no  past,"  she  whispers,  putting  her  arms  about  his 
neck ;  "  I  have  lived  only  since  I  loved !  La  Baronne 
de  Portalis  is  a  myth.  I  am  only  thy  bound-girl,  Es- 
telle  Gabrielle  Chartres.  You  are  my  master,  stern 
or  kind ;  as  pleases  you,  so  pleases  me." 

"  Then  let's  understand  each  other  at  once  and  for- 
ever. This  woman  " — he  pulls  the  beautiful  miniature 
out  of  the  watchcase  and  tosses  it  into  the  fire — "  is 
naught  to  me;  thy  dead  husband  is  naught  to  you. 
See  that  no  other  man  save  me  enjoys  the  radiance  of 
your  eyes,  the  sweetness  of  your  lips." 

His  tone  is  so  dominant,  he  holds  her  by  her  two 
delicate  shoulders  so  potently,  that  she  hangs  her 
head,  though  Da  Messina's  jealousy  makes  Estelle  won- 
drously  content.  A  moment  after,  she  becomes  bright, 
laughing,  joyous. 

"  Now  that  we  are  happy,  little  one,"  he  laughs, 
"  come  with  me  to  the  dining-room.  There  we  will 
have  an  early  dinner ;  then  do  the  town,  and  this  even- 
ing I  will  take  you  with  me  to  the  theater." 

"  Delightful !  "  she  prattles.  "  Just  wait  until  I  am 
ready  for  promenade !  "  She  trips  away  with  joyous 
feet ;  but,  reaching  her  little  chamber,  she  halts  at  its 
portal,  flashes  her  eyes  at  a  piece  of  half-burnt  ivory  in 
the  stove,  and,  as  she  runs  away,  throws  him  a  most 
enthusiastic  kiss. 

"Santa  Maria!"  he  mutters,  noting  Estelle's  glance. 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  139 

"  How  old  intrigues  that  were  pleasing  in  their  time  pall 
on  man's  palate  when  he  really  loves !  Per  Baccho,  her 
bright  face  is  worth  all  the  Olinskas  on  this  earth !  " 
For  Da  Messina,  like  most  other  tenors,  has  had  many 
passing  amours;  but,  curiously,  is  now  enduring  his 
grand  passion. 

An  hour  after  this,  the  loungers  at  the  Hotel  de 
Naples,  who  have  eyes  for  celebrities,  see  the  great 
Italian  tenor,  accompanied  by  a  very  bright-faced  girl, 
in  childish  dress,  stroll  out  upon  the  street.  One  or 
two  of  these,  as  he  passes,  remove  their  hats,  and  whis- 
per :  "  For  Italian  art,  grand  Signore !  "  in  their  pleas- 
ant, Tuscan  style. 

This  homage  to  the  man  of  her  heart  gives  rapture  to 
Estelle.  Her  bright  eyes  now  notice  that  people  on 
the  street  turn  and  gaze  after  her  maestro 's  handsome 
figure ;  for  this  Mediterranean  town  has  many  in  it  who 
have  heard  Pergolese  sing  at  the  great  Italian  opera 
houses,  and  remember,  with  pleasure,  his  dramatic  art, 
the  exquisite  phrasing  of  his  melodies,  the  noble  pas- 
sion of  his  glorious  voice. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  this  day  becomes  an  ecstasy 
to  Estelle.  After  rambling  about  the  shipping  of  the 
old  port,  they  jaunt  on  a  small,  puffing  steamboat  to 
the  Pharo  fort.  From  here  they  stroll  toward  the 
Prado,  the  great  promenade  of  Marseilles,  and,  engag- 
ing an  open  barouche,  the  weather  being  extremely 
fine,  have  a  very  pleasant  excursion  to  the  Mediter- 
ranean, where,  looking  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  sea, 
Estelle,  in  modest  diffidence,  whispers :  "  Carlo  mio ! " 

At  this,  as  reward  for  her  effort  in  amorous  Italian, 
her  little  hand  is  caressed  under  the  carriage  robe. 

So,  returning  to  the  Naples,  her  face  is  radiant  with 
the  light  of  love.  In  the  early  evening  they  drive  to 
the  old  theater,  in  the  little  cross  street,  near  the  Rue 
Mazagran,  where,  nestling  almost  behind  her  padrone, 
in  the  privacy  of  a  loge,  she  looks  upon  that  masterpiece 
of  the  French  stage  which  the  English  call  "  The 
Marble  Heart." 


140  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS. 

As  the  curtain  falls  on  its  wondrous  prologue  in  old 
Athens,  tears  are  in  her  eyes  at  the  despair  of  the  sculp- 
tor, flaunted  by  the  statues  to  whom  his  love  had  given 
life. 

"  You  like  it,  petite?  "  asks  her  maestro,  during  the 
entre-acte. 

"  O — oh !  How  I  hate  the  cold-blooded  statues !  " 
she  whispers  so  savagely  that  Da  Messina  laughs. 

Then,  the  curtain  going  up  again,  noting  her  illu- 
mined face,  he  remarks :  "  You  have  the  dramatic  in- 
stinct." For  in  Estelle's  charming  features  are  re- 
flected each  varying  emotion  of  this  exquisite  drama. 

Gazing  upon  the  stage,  Da  Messina's  betrothed  can 
not  help  thinking  that  she  may  be  the  "  Marie,"  and 
Olinska  the  "  Marco,"  of  "  The  Marble  Heart  " ;  while 
this  being,  in  whose  strong  hand  her  little  one  is 
nestled,  may  be — oh,  horrors  ! — the  fickle  "  Raphael," 
though  a  flash  of  fire  in  her  veins  tells  her  that  she 
would  never  be  a  weeping  thing  like  the  crushed  maiden 
of  the  play,  but  would  give  Olinska  a  grand  battle  for 
her  lover. 

Going  home  in  the  carriage,  another  rapture  comes 
to  her.  Da  Messina  takes  her  in  his  arms,  and  patting 
her  cheek  approvingly,  whispers :  "  You  wept  at  the 
play!  Your  nation  has  many  great  actors;  see  that 
they  inspire  you !  In  opera,  a  woman  who  only  sings 
is  but  half  an  artiste." 

His  caresses  and  his  praise  make  her  so  joyous,  that, 
after  they  have  arrived  at  the  hotel,  as  she  runs  up  the 
stairs  by  his  side  to  their  apartment,  the  lights  in  the 
corridor  being  low,  and  the  place  retired,  in  the  care- 
lessness of  happiness  she  cries,  in  enthusiastic  voice: 
"  Carlo  mio,  hasn't  this  been  a  glorious  day !  " 

Da  Messina's  warning  clutch  upon  her  arm  checks 
Estelle's  outward  exultation ;  but  her  words  have 
reached  a  lady  and  a  gentleman,  who,  from  a  darkened 
room,  with  door  a  very  little  open,  have  waited  for  the 
coming  of  the  padrone  and  his  apprentice. 

As,  with  a  bang,  the  door  of  Pergolese's  parlor  closes, 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  14! 

the  portal  of  La  Contessa  di  Vilermo's  boudoir  is  also 
very  cautiously  shut,  and  its  occupants,  turning  up  th<< 
lights,  begin  a  very  curious  conversation  in  low  and 
cautious  voices. 

"  Ghieu ! "  grins  a  swarthy  browed,  suave-speaking 
gentleman,  in  shining  boots  and  elaborate  evening  dress- 
"  Your  beaten  bound-girl  seems  not  only  very  merry, 
but  very  intimate  with  her  tyrant." 

"That's  what  I  can't  make  out,  Signor  Benuchio," 
answers  la  contessa.  "  Her  cries  came  to  me  quite 
plainly,  when  mademoiselle  was  chastised  last  night." 

"  Corpo  di  Borgia !  She  loves  the  hand  that  smites 
her !  I  have  known  such  things  before,  but  I  warn  you 
for  your  own  safety,  mia  cara  Eugenia,"  whispers  the 
man ;  "  you  must  make  a  grand  coup  with  this  girl, 
so  as  to  obtain  the  true  knowledge  why  this  tenor, 
who  is  known  to  be  hand-in-glove  with  Cesaresco, 
Manin,  Manara,  and  other  so-called  Italian  patriots, 
has  visited  France.  Did  not  I  tell  you  that  his  pass- 
port read  via  Marseilles;  that  we  were  sure  to  meet 
him  here?  Discover  if  Da  Messina  came  to  this 
country  to  buy  arms;  if  so,  the  routes  by  which  they 
will  be  introduced  into  Lombardy.  Remember,  you 
failed  the  last  time  in  Turin,  because  you  were  per- 
verse and  would  not  give  your  beauty  to  the  Sardinian 
marquis.  No  scruples  of  any  kind  must  mar  this,  thy 
last,  effort,  for  Bolza  will  never  pardon  a  second  mis- 
take. If  you  don't  succeed  now,  his  iron  hand  will  be 
upon  you.  You  know  his  grip  is  not  a  pleasant  one." 

At  this  suggestion,  the  lady  shudders. 

"  By  the  bye,"  he  continues ;  "  I  have  a  letter  from 
him  as  to  you.  Here  is  your  ticket.  You  will  journey 
on  the  same  boat  with  Pergolese  to  Genoa.  You  will 
contrive — I  know  your  fascinating  ways — to  become 
one  of  his  party.  I  shall  keep  my  eye  upon  you  here. 
At  Genoa,  you  will  report  to  Donetto,  who  will  have 
you  under  his  charge,  until  you  cross  the  Lombardian 
frontier.  There,  of  course,  you  will  be  safe  again  in 
the  hands  of  your  dear  friend  Bolza,  who,  to  tell  the 


142  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

truth,  has  some  slight  fears  that  you  may  not  wish, 
though  you  gave  him  your  oath,  to  return  to  Milan.  So 
I  have  instructions  from  him,  in  case  you  make  any 
trouble,  to  speak  to  the  French  police,  and  you  will  be 
arrested  at  once  for  several  commercial  offenses,  and 
returned  to  Austrian  justice." 

"  Ah,  but  the  French  government  is  not  now  friendly 
to  the  Austrian !  "  she  retorts,  a  flash  of  hope  lighting 
her  eyes. 

" Peste,  yes!  As  a  political  criminal,  you  would  be 
safe,  mia  bella;  but  as  a  commercial  criminal,  in  this 
mart  of  trade,  where  the  judge  himself  would  doubtless 
be  some  banker's  relative,  a  forged  bill  of  exchange  is 
very  awful.  You  would  be  returned,  my  dear  lady,  to 
Austrian  justice  in  a  jiffy !"  sneers  Benuchio.  Then,  his 
face  growing  more  sinister,  he  observes :  "  Besides,  your 
husband,  the  chevalier  d' Industrie,  who  called  himself 
'  count/  when  he  made  you  his  widow,  by  immuring 
himself  in  the  galleys  for  life,  also  left  you  a  little  son — 
Georgio  by  name,  I  think " 

"  Gran  Dio ! "  The  woman  is  looking  into  his  cold 
face  with  desperate  eyes. 

But  he  continues,  contemplatively :  "  Now  scarce  two 
years  old,  at  present  in  the  school  of  Santo  Patricio, 
Trieste.  If  you  hope  ever  to  see  the  urchin  again,  you 
must  obey  Bolza !  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know !  "  she  stammers,  pressing  her 
face  with  clasped  hands,  as  if  to  shield  from  her  eyes 
some  cruel  picture ;  then  wiping  them,  as  if  they  were 
moist  with  tears,  though  they  are  dry  and  burning. 

"  What  a  fatal  weapon  is  a  child,  when  directed  at  a 
mother's  heart!  "  he  remarks,  half  laughingly. 

But  she,  not  heeding  him,  raises  her  head,  and  says, 
brokenly :  "  Yes,  I  know  I  must  do  Bolza's  bidding ;  s 
then  suddenly  shudders :  "  How  merciless  he  is !  " 

"  To  the  enemies  of  his  emperor,  to  the  unfaithful — 
yes!  But  I  think  you  can  hardly  complain  of  us,"  re- 
turns the  man.  "  Do  we  not  dress  you  up  to  your  puta- 
tive rank?"  He  glances  at  the  spirituellc  beauty  of 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTAL1S.  143 

the  woman,  whose  very  handsome  neck,  shoulders,  and 
arms  are  displayed  by  a  lovely  evening  robe,  contrived 
quite  deftly  by  a  French  modiste.  "  Do  I  not  each 
day  give  you  money  sufficient  for  your  wants  as  con- 
tessa,  but  not  enough  to  run  away  with  ?  In  addition, 
guessing  that  Da  Messina  must  return  to  Italy  by  Mar- 
seilles, I  have  procured  this  letter  of  introduction  for 
you  to  the  tenor.  It  is  written  by  Mateo,  the  impresario 
of  the  San  Carlo,  who  is  not  as  good  an  Italian  as 
Pergolese  thinks  him.  It  states  that  la  Contessa  di 
Vilermo  prays  escort  to  Lombardy,  through  which 
province  she  journeys,  having  an  uncle  living  at 
Trieste.  This  frank  mention  of  a  very  slight  con- 
nection with  his  enemies,  though  it  will  place  Per- 
golese on  his  guard,  will  also  eliminate  other  more 
dangerous  suspicions.  But  it  is  the  girl  from  whom 
you  must  extract  the  knowledge  that  we  wish.  We 
have  tried  Pergolese  before.  He  is  adamant.  There- 
fore, having  your  instructions,  proceed  to  fulfill  them, 
Madame!  Beware  how  you  fail  the  second  time,  my 
dear  Eugenia !  "  The  latent  menace  in  his  soft  voice 
makes  his  lovely  auditor  tremble  from  the  tips  of  her 
slight  fingers  to  the  toes  of  her  dainty  feet,  as  he  con- 
tinues :  "  If  to  succeed  you  have  to  give  your  soul — 
give  it!  It  were  better  than  that  you  endured  the  ven- 
geance pf  Bolza !  " 

To  this,  she  replying  nothing,  he  adds :  "  Now, 
having  spurred  you,  my  esteemed  lady,  to  great  ex- 
ertions for  your  own  good,  Benuchio  takes  his  leave, 
and  wishes  you  bon  -voyage ! "  He  kisses  the  con- 
tessa's  delicate  hands  twice  effusively,  and  bows  him- 
self out. 

Alone,  Eugenia  gazes  about  with  hopeless  eyes.  A 
despair  is  upon  her  face ;  with  twitching  lips,  she  sighs 
helplessly:  "Bolza  —  he  has  his  hand  everywhere!" 
Then,  glancing  at  the  letter  of  introduction  to  Pergo- 
lese, she  starts,  like  a  steed  under  the  spur,  and  studies 
it,  nervously,  so  that  she  may  act  in  accord  with  its 


144  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

words,  and  moans :  "  I  will  not  fail,  I  can  not  fail  1 
dare  not  fail!  For  Bolza's  heel  is  on  my  neck,  and  he 
is  merciless !  "  * 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  LAST  NIGHT  YOU  DID  NOT  THINK  ME  A  CHILD !  " 

The  next  day  la  Contessa  di  Vilermo  sends,  accom- 
panied by  her  card,  the  letter  of  introduction  to  il  Cava- 
liere  da  Messina.  It  is  from  Giovanni  Mateo,  the  im- 
presario of  the  great  opera  house  of  Naples,  a  gentle- 
man who  Carlo  believes  to  be  not  only  his  true  friend, 
but  also  an  ardent  lover  of  Italian  liberty. 

Addressed  to  him  from  Pau,  that  popular  watering- 
place  of  the  French  Pyrenees,  it  states  that  la  contessa 
is  journeying  from  this  resort,  where  she  has  spent  the 
early  months  of  winter,  to  Trieste,  via  Genoa,  Milan, 
and  Venice.  Pursuit  for  the  San  Carlo  of  an  elusive 
prima  donna,  who  was  also  spending  the  winter  at  Pau, 
had  brought  Mateo  to  the  Pyrenees,  where  he  has  en- 
countered la  Contessa  di  Vilermo,  a  valued  friend. 

Knowing  that  this  lady  will  be  without  escort 
through  a  part  of  Italy,  almost  in  the  throes  of  revo- 
lution, and  having  heard  from  Pergolese  himself  that 
he  would  some  time  in  the  early  spring  be  returning  to 
Milan,  via  Marseilles,  Mateo  has  taken  the  liberty  of 
giving  this  letter  to  la  contessa,  in  the  hope  that,  should 
she  meet  him,  she  may  obtain  Da  Messina's  protection 
as  far  as  Milan,  from  which  point  the  country  will  per- 
haps be  less  disturbed  by  political  agitation. 

The  letter  brings  no  suspicion  to  Carlo's  mind,  but 

*This  method  of  using-  the  fears  of  his  agents  to  compel  them  to  any  infamy 
to  pain  the  information  he  desired,  was  a  favorite  method  of  Bolza,  the  head 
of 'he  Lombardian  police  in  1848,  thousrh  not  original,  it  having  been  bor- 
rowed from  FoucW,  the  minister  of  police  of  the  First  Napoleon,  who.  to  his 
disgrace,  organized  in  nearly  every  capital  of  Europe  his  celebrated  "  Hautt 
Police,"  Many  a  beautiful  Prussian  woman,  many  a  beautiful  Italian 
woman,  suffered  because  she  would  not  betray  the  secrets  of  her  people.— ED. 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  145 

with  it  comes  to  him,  after  calling  on  Signora  di  Vi- 
lermo,  a  problem.  Shall  he  offer  the  escort  that  is 
asked  to  Milan,  via  Genoa  ? 

Every  throb  of  his  lover's  heart  cries  out  that  it  will 
destroy  the  sweet  intimacy  that  has  grown  up  between 
him  and  his  sweetheart.  But  of  this  intimacy  he  knows 
the  insidious  danger. 

When  he  was  only  padrone,  and  Estelle  his  bound- 
girl,  it  had,  perhaps,  been  barbarous,  yet  surely  inno- 
cent. But  now,  when,  each  evening,  as  his  betrothed 
says  adieu  to  leave  him  for  her  lonely  chamber,  her 
arms  seem  to  cling  closer  and  closer  about  him,  as  if 
she  could  not  bear  to  say  "  Good  night !  "  he  feels  the 
insidious  temptation,  even  if  she  does  not. 

"  Some  time  love  will  overcome  me,"  he  reflects, 
"  and  then — God  forgive  me — I  am  dishonored !  She 
is  so  helpless  in  my  hands !  Though  she  is  a  widow, 
she  is  as  innocent  as  a  child." 

Therefore,  not  altogether  with  dissent,  Da  Messina 
considers  the  addition  of  a  chaperone  to  their  party. 

Though  it  will  deprive  him  of  a  companionship  which 
is  the  delight  of  his  soul,  it  will  also  be  a  barrier  for  his 
sweetheart  against  what  he  dreads  now  —  his  over- 
whelming desire. 

So,  this  evening,  he  mentions  the  matter  to  Estelle, 
and  certain  incidents  which  occur  in  connection  with  it 
show  him  how  light  a  veil  floats  betwixt  them  and  the 
forgetfulness  of  everything  in  this  world  save  love. 

They  have  come  in  from  the  theater  again,  where  he 
had  taken  her  to  see  Lemerciere's  "  Agamemnon," 
thinking  it  best  to  give  Estelle  every  opportunity  to 
study  the  methods  of  the  stage.  Taking  this  oppor- 
tunity, he  tells  his  sweetheart  that  he  intends  to  add  an- 
other to  their  party  as  far  as  Milan.  "  I  have  already 
seen  the  lady,"  he  observes. 

"  What  lady  ?  "  she  gasps,  in  astonished  voice. 

"  One  who  brought  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
my  friend  Mateo,  the  great  impresario,  under  whose 
management,  perchance,  some  day  you  may  warble. 


146  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

This  lady  is  compelled  to  go  to  Milan,  and  will  jour- 
ney with  us  to  that  city.  Don't  pout  so  viciously !  " 
he  laughs.  "  You  have  already  seen  her.  She  tells  me 
that  she  heard  your  voice  in  that  corridor  one  day,  and, 
being  charmed  by  its  beauty,  took  the  liberty  of  asking 
to  hear  more  of  it.  She  thinks  that  some  day  yon  will 
become  a  great  artiste." 

"  Oh,  yes !  La  Contessa  di  Vilermo !  I  have  seen 
her  before,"  replies  Estelle. 

"  And  never  told  me  of  it !  "  returns  her  padrone. 
"  It  is  well,  for  my  happiness,  that  the  Contessa  di  Vi- 
lermo is  not  a  gentleman." 

But  his  ward  does  not  answer  this.  She  will  not 
confess  to  a  jealousy  which  she  knows  her  lover  will 
condemn,  and  yet  one  which  still  lingers  in  her  heart. 

But  suddenly  all  else,  save  that  she  will  be  separated 
by  the  presence  of  another  from  tete-a-tete  with  the 
man  she  loves,  overcomes  her.  She  puts  her  arms 
about  him,  and  sobs :  "  O  Carlo,  don't  let  her  come ! 
She  will  be  forever  between  us!  We  shall  never  be 
alone.  Before  this  woman,  I  shall  no  more  receive  the 
caresses  that  have  made  these  two  days  to  me  a  para- 
dise." Then  her  eyes  blaze  up  in  reproach,  and  she 
queries,  falteringly :  "  Thou  hast  already  become  tired 
of  me?" 

"  Gran  Dio,  no !  Never  accuse  me  of  that !  "  His 
face,  for  a  moment  stern,  grows  soft  with  passion;  he 
murmurs :  "  Each  kiss  from  your  lips  has  made  me 
long  for  a  thousand  more,  bell'  idolo!  Besides,  I  wish 
no  careless  tongues — and  there  are  many  in  Italy — to 
speak  slightingly  of  one  who,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
soon  shall  be  honored,  not  as  my  mistress,  but  as  my 
wife." 

At  the  word,  her  arms  close  round  him,  as  he  rea- 
sons with  her,  showing  her  that  their  hearts  are  now 
too  close  together  for  anything  to  come  between  them. 
And  she  answering  nothing,  he  goes  away  to  complete 
certain  business  arrangements  for  arms  and  supplies  of 
ammunition,  for  in  Marseilles,  as  well  as  in  Lyons,  Da 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  147 

Messina,  taking  his  life  in  his  hand,  is  still  working  for 
Italy. 

Receiving  Estelle's  good-night  kiss,  her  maestro 
thinks  the  matter  is  settled;  but  does  not  remember 
that  one  argument  seldom  suffices  with  a  woman. 

Returning  from  his  secret  interview  with  certain 
agents  of  English  manufacturers,  Carlo  arrives  at  the 
Hotel  de  Naples  as  the  clock  strikes  two.  In  the  dark 
hallway,  a  man  steps  beside  him,  and,  recognizing 
Jacques  Parogue,  Pergolese's  face  grows  ashen.  An 
awful  fear  that  his  sweetheart  may  yet  be  torn  from  him 
by  French  justice  seems  to  make  his  heart  stop  beating. 

"  I  mean  you  no  harm,  Monsieur,"  says  Parogue  re- 
spectfully, noticing  the  other  start.  Then  he  whispers : 
"  I  have  a  warning  that  may  be  of  value  to  you.  I 
thought  I  would  do  something  for  the  money  you 
squandered  on  me.  It  is  better  that  I  speak  it  in  your 
ear." 

"  Yes,  in  my  rooms,"  answers  Da  Messina,  leading 
the  way  to  his  apartments. 

He  has  scarce  turned  up  the  light  in  his  parlor,  and 
Jacques  Parogue  has  just  opened  his  mouth  to  give 
him  some  very  interesting  information,  when  to  them 
floats  the  sound  of  muffled  grief  from  the  neighboring 
chamber. 

"  Estelle,  what  is  the  matter?  "  asks  Pergolese,  anx- 
iously, as  he  steps  toward  her  door. 

"She  is  crying!"  growls  the  old  mouchard,  sav- 
agely, remembering  the  red  shoulders  he  had  seen  and 
the  plaints  he  had  heard  two  evenings  before.  "  You 
are  too  severe  with  your  apprentice,  Italian  padrone.  I 
care  not  to  hear  the  sound  of  her  suffering.  To-mor- 
row I  will  speak  to  you,"  and  so  goes  away,  and  never 
comes  back. 

For,  coming  down  the  stairs,  Parogue  mutters : 
"  Curses  upon  this  Italian  brute !  He  has  been  beating 
that  poor  girl  again.  To  the  devil  with  such  apostles 
of  liberty !  He  can  save  his  own  dastard  bones,  if  he 
can."  And  therefore  leaves  unuttered  words  that  would 


148  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

have  forever  prevented  la  Contessa  di  Vilermo  from 
receiving  escort  from  Da  Messina. 

But  had  the  old  gendarme  taken  the  trouble  to  look 
at  the  face  of  this  brutal  Italian,  he  would  have  seen 
such  anxiety  in  it  that  it  might  have  given  him  other 
judgment.  Da  Messina  is  saying,  lovingly :  "  Estelle, 
•mia  anima,  speak  to  me !  "  There  is  no  answer,  though 
the  sobbing  ceases.  ''  Estelle !  "  he  cries,  sharply,  for 
he  half  guesses  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  and  the  tears 
even  of  the  women  they  love  are  jnostly  unpleasant  to 
men. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"  No,  I — I  am  unhappy." 

"Why?" 

"  Nothing !  Everything !  You  cut  me  off  from  lov- 
ing you!  You  placed  another  woman " 

But  her  voice  stops  here,  for  Da  Messina  breaks  in, 
decisively :  "  To-morrow  la  contessa  sails  with  us  to 
Genoa !  I  have  reasoned  the  matter  to  you  as  a  woman ; 
now  I  tell  you  this  as  a  child.  Harken  to  my  words! 
Since  you  are  my  rebellious  bound-girl,  I  shall  no  more 
be  your  lover — only  your  padrone — until  I  have  given 
you  your  liberty.  As  soon  as  I  dare  do  that,  I  shall 
come  to  you.  Then,  pardi,  you,  little  one,  may  be  the 
tyrant  to  thy  Carlo !  " 

He  turns  almost  angrily  toward  his  door,  for  he  is 
annoyed  that  uncalled-for  tears  have  deprived  him  of 
the  revelation  of  Parogue.  Yet  it  is  with  slow,  sad 
steps.  He  remembers  it  is  the  first  discord  that  has 
come  between  them  since  their  lips  met. 

But  another  has  a  word  to  say  to  this !  Just  as  Da 
Messina  reaches  the  entrance  of  his  chamber,  Estelle's 
door  bursts  open,  and  a  white-robed  figure,  with  arms 
gleaming  like  ivory,  and  nude,  dimpled  feet  thrust  into 
slippers,  one  of  which  flies  off  as  she  crosses  the  apart- 
ment, runs  to  him,  and,  clasping'  him  round  the  waist 
from  behind,  falls  at  his  feet,  and  with  tears,  piteous 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  149 

entreaties,  and  loving  words,  cries  out :    "  Gran  Dio, 
how  cruel  you  are  to  me !  " 

"  Cruel  to  thee?"  His  arms  are  about  her;  she  is 
seated  in  his  lap,  and  he  is  soothing  her  with  tender 
caresses,  which,  perchance,  are  made  more  fervid  by 
the  extreme  beauty  and  careless  abandon  of  the  peni- 
tent, who,  in  the  alluring  dishabille  of  night,  nestles  so 
close  to  him. 

"  I — I  went  to  bed,"  she  sobs,  "  but  could  not  sleep ! 
I  suffered " 

"  Suffered !  Because  of  la  contessa,  to  whom  I  have 
said  scarce  three  dozen  words  ?  " 

"  Not  for  her;  but  because  she  will  come  between  me 
and  your  love.  I — I  shall  be  alone,  as  I  was  before  you 
made  my  life  glorious  by  the  first  love,  the  last  love,  I 
shall  ever  know.  Ah,  ingrate,  I  will  show  you  what 
you  lose!  Is  not  this  kiss  pleasant?  Does  not  this 
caress  give  thee  rapture  ?  "  And  she  struggles  to  gain 
her  will  by  very  helplessness ;  her  dainty  arms  cling 
to  him,  her  delicate  bosom  beats  against  'his  heart  like 
the  fluttering  of  a  bird. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  grow  horrified.  The  hoarse  voice 
of  a  man  fighting  against  himself  speaks  to  her :  "  I 
reasoned  with  you  as  a  woman;  you  answer  me  as  a 
child — as  such  I  treat  thee!  Go  to  thy  chamber!  If 
thou  art  not  obedient  to-morrow,  you  shall  learn  that 
thy  padrone  has  a  stern  hand,  Mademoiselle  Rebel." 

He  puts  her  from  him;  her  eyes  droop  before  his 
almost  savage  glance. 

"  Yes !  I — I — please  let  me  get  my  slipper  on  ?  " 
she  sobs,  and  gropes  for  it  with  half-blinded  eyes. 

"  Now  make  me  courtesy  and  retire !  " 

"  Yes,  mio — mio  padrone."  Draping  the  short  robe 
de  nuit  about  her,  she  tremblingly  makes  schoolgirl 
obeisance.  As  she  half  sinks  before  him,  the  exquisite 
contours  of  her  figure,  outlined  severely  by  the  clinging, 
semi-diaphanous  muslin,  make  him  start  with  a  sup- 
pressed exclamation,  part  almost  of  surprise,  part  of 
rapture. 


150  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

The  pathetic  reproach  in  her  sweet  eyes  cries  to  his 
heart.  In  another  instant  his  love  will  overcome  him. 

Then,  enraged  with  himself,  he  seizes  her  delicate 
shoulder,  and  the  sweet  being  that  tempts  him  makes 
hurried  exit  to  her  chamber.  There  is  a  sudden  click 
of  bolt.  He  tosses  the  key  over  the  transom  to  her,  and 
commands :  "  Thou  art  a  prisoner !  Don't  dare  un- 
lock that  door  until  to-morrow  morning ;  then  see  that 
you  come  to  me  obedient !  " 

With  this,  despite  some  piteous  sighs  that  reach  him 
faintly,  Da  Messina  leaves  the  parlor,  and  paces  the 
corridor,  muttering  to  himself :  "  God  forgive  me !  I 
locked  that  door,  not  upon  that  innocent,  but  upon  my 
dastard  self !  " 

Yet  the  next  morning,  such  are  woman's  vagaries, 
he  has  scarce  seated  himself  at  the  breakfast  table,  when 
two  soft  hands  blind  his  eyes,  and  a  sweet  voice  whis- 
pers :  "  Guess  who?  "  then  laughs  :  "  You  don't  recog- 
nize my  tone ;  see  if  you  remember  my  lips !  "  Next 
says,  penitently :  "  I  am  obedient ;  I  will  treat  this  lady 
you  bring  with  us  with  every  courtesy.  Only,  I  beg  I 
shall  have  thy  permission,  stern  padrone,  to  wear  a  new 
and  handsome  frock." 

"Diavolo!"  mutters  Da  Messina,  with  a  grin.  "Thou 
hast  not  waited  for  my  assent,"  and  glances  at  a  very 
charming  picture  of  budding  girlhood,  in  a  tight-fitting 
traveling  frock,  of  gray  Lyons  velvet. 

"  Please,  please  forgive  the  expense !  "  she  pleads, 
anxiously ;  then  falters  :  "  I — I  so  want  to  look  well  in 
thine  eyes !  "  and  the  next  second  queries,  archly :  "Dost 
like  me,  mio  padrone?  " 

"  Cospetto,  you  are  a  pretty  child !  " 

"  Last  night  you  did  not  think  me  a  child,  though 
you  treated  me  as  one." 

Her  eyes  have  a  veiled  inquiry  in  their  brown  depths 
that  makes  Carlo  ashamed  of  himself,  and  the  great 
tenor's  face  grows  red  as  he  chokes  over  his  coffee  that 
his  bound-maid,  sitting  across  the  breakfast-table  from 
him,  has  just  poured  out  with  dainty  hands. 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  15! 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  COMMOTION  AT  THE  OPERA  HOUSE. 

Therefore,  that  Friday  afternoon,  upon  the  deck  of 
one  of  the  steamboats  of  the  Sardinian  line,  as  they  sail 
out  of  the  old  port  of  Marseilles,  Carlo  brings  the  con- 
tessa  to  his  ward,  and  Estelle  receives  her  with  a  de- 
mure coldness  that  makes  Da  Messina  for  the  moment 
frown.  But  the  next  second  astonishment  passes  over 
his  face,  as  he  s^es  Signora  di  Vilermo  do  something 
he  could  not,  perhaps,  have  done  for  her — win  the  heart 
of  his  ward  by  that  subtlety  given  to  a  few  women,  of 
divining  the  minds  of  those  they  look  upon.  For,  the 
moment  this  lady  meets  Estelle,  with  exquisite  tact  she 
greets  her  as  comrade,  and  treats  her  as  such. 

She  remarks :  "  You  must  not  put  me  at  arms' 
length,  my  dear,  when  I  had  so  much  trouble  to  win 
a  place  at  your  side." 

"  Indeed !  "  says  Estelle,  raising  her  eyebrows,  and 
in  her  childish  costume  looking  almost  an  enfante 
gaitee. 

"  Yes,  I  had  great  difficulty  in  persuading  your 
guardian  to  take  me  with  you,  Mademoiselle  Chartres. 
He  feared  you  would  not  care  for  a  companion." 

"  Oh,  my  padrone  often  thinks  of  me !  "  remarks  the 
girl,  casting  a  grateful  glance  toward  Carlo. 

"  Then  won't  you  come  with  me  to  our  stateroom?  " 
asks  la  contessa.  "  I  have  arranged  with  the  stewardess. 
I  feared  you  might  be  lonely ;  we  will  be  comrades,"  and 
so  carries  her  away. 

Da  Messina,  gazing  after  them,  as  they  trip  upon  the 
deck,  the  elder  spirit  uelle,  svelte,  and  yet  stately  in  her 
beauty,  the  younger  like  a  rosebud  opening  to  the  sun, 
for  this  young  widow's  soul  seems  to  be  developing 
under  her  first  passion. 

With  a  little  grin  upon  his  face,  he  thinks :  "Sapristil 


152  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Had  Signora  di  Vilermo  called  my  sweetheart  '  child/ 
she  had  never  got  her  arm  about  Estelle's  waist  as  she 
has  now." 

Half  an  hour  afterward  he  hears  the  ladies  laughing 
and  chatting  as  he  raps  upon  their  stateroom  door  and 
suggests  supper.  And  they  all  going  to  the  dining 
salon,  Estelle  finds  she  is  still  not  permitted  a  young 
lady's  privilege  of  selecting  what  she  is  to  eat.  As  the 
dessert  is  brought  in,  some  marrons  glacees  are  placed 
within  her  reach. 

She  knows  these  are  forbidden-  to  vocal  aspirants, 
and,  looking  at  her  padrone,  pleads :  "  May  I  ?  " 

"  Why,  certo,  little  one,"  he  says,  pleasantly,  "  while 
we  are  en  voyage;  though  sweetmeats  are  by  no  means 
beneficial  to  that  charming  voice." 

But,  having  been  deprived  of  sugar  plums  for  some 
time  past,  Estelle  accepts  Carlo's  permission,  and  makes 
so  brisk  an  attack  upon  the  dainties  that  la  contessa 
laughs:  "Cospetto,  an  indulgent  padrone!"  then  cries: 
"  Let's  put  vocal  culture  aside  for  our  trip,  though  in 
Milan  I  presume  mademoiselle  will  have  to  study  all 
the  harder.  During  the  voyage  both  you  and  I,  cava- 
liere,  will  instruct  your  pupil  in  Italian.  Estelle  longs 
to  learn  the  language.  Is  it  not  wonderful  the  progress 
she  has  already  made  ?  She  knows  every  love  term  in 
it !  "  With  one  of  her  eyes  slightly  raised  to  give  her 
remark  piquancy,  the  lady  spy  catches  a  flush  on  Es- 
telle's face,  bright  as  the  crimson  sunset  that  comes  in 
through  the  cabin  windows;  with  the  other  she  notes 
that  Da  Messina  is  smiling  very  contentedly. 

The  meal  finished,  they  all  go  out  on  the  deck,  for 
the  night  is  beautiful,  and  the  Mediterranean  soft  as 
a  summer  lake.  The  hazy  shores  of  France  are  upon 
their  left,  but  growing  slightly  indistinct,  for  they  are 
leaving  them. 

The  moon  has  risen,  and,  the  air  being  balmy,  both 
Eugenia  and  Carlo  rather  laughingly  acting  on  la  con- 
tessa's  suggestion,  proceed  to  teach  Estelle  Italian,  the 
ladies  already  calling  each  other  by  their  first  names. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  153 

With  this,  a  little  incident  arises  that  tells  the  astute 
observer  of  the  jealous  heart  for  her  maestro  that  is 
throbbing  in  his  pupil's  breast.  La  contessa,  in  the 
carelessness  of  absolute  familiarity,  using  an  extremely 
colloquial  expression  that  is  not  perfect  Italian,  Da 
Messina,  who  wishes  Estelle  to  acquire  the  language 
accurately,  suggests  to  Eugenia  a  correction  of  her 
phrase,  remarking :  "  Only  to  the  adept  can  be  par- 
doned the  carelessness  of  absolute  confidence." 

"  Ah !  "  jeers  the  lady,  not  altogether  pleased  at  his 
correction.  "  Now,  Estelle,  we  are  comrades  —  two 
young  ladies  and  one  padrone !  Would  you  like  me  to- 
morrow, in  Genoa,  Signore  da  Messina,  to  sign  a  little 
stamped  paper  like  the  one  by  which  you  hold  made- 
moiselle so  firmly?  Perchance  you  would  place  me 
again  en  fillette,  and  I  should  have  to  ask  permission  for 
bonbons,  beaux,  and  other  pleasures  of  life  ?  " 

And  in  truth  Eugenia  would  have  been  pleased  to 
have  even  given  herself  over  to  the  hard  lot  of  Italian 
padroneship,  could  she  have  gained  Da  Messina's 
secret — to  betray  him.  Any  bondage  seems  light  to  her 
compared  with  the  dominion  of  Bolza,  to  whose  hands 
she  is  now  journeying. 

But  a  low  voice,  of  such  intensity  it  startles  Eugenia, 
now  answers  her  light  words :  "  Mio  padrone  has 
promised  to  have  no  other  apprentice  than  me.  Ma- 
dame la  Comtesse,  I  have  the  honor  of  being  the  only 
bound-girl  of  Pergolese !  " 

"  Ghieu ! "  laughs  Carlo.  "  The  government  of  one 
spitfire  is  too  much  for  poor  Pergolese !  " 

But  the  passion  of  Estelle's  voice  has  certified  her 
secret  to  the  astute  ears  of  Eugenia,  who  now,  with 
supreme  tact,  alleging  a  slight  mal  de  mer,  though  the 
boat  is  as  steady  as  a  house,  goes  to  her  stateroom,  and 
leaves  the  maestro  and  his  pupil  as  they  long  to  be — 
together  and  alone. 

The  deck  is  nearly  deserted,  for  it  is  growing  late. 
A  large  wheelhouse,  near  the  stern,  gives  these  two  the 
privacy  they  seek. 


154  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  You  are  pleased  ?  "  asks  Da  Messina,  nodding  in 
the  direction  where  the  soft  frou  frou  of  skirts  tells 
them  la  contessa  is  descending  the  companion-way. 

"  With  Eugenia  ?  Oh,  very  much !  But  still,  chiefly 
because  she  leaves  us  en  tete-a-tete,"  and  Estelle's  little 
hand  seeks  the  protection  of  his  clasp. 

"  Ah,  well,  it  will  not  be  long  before  our  trip  is 
ended,"  he  remarks,  "  though  I  am  glad  you  like  her. 
Two  nights  from  now,  Milano !  " 

"  Yes !  As  the  clouds  are  rising  from  my  head,  they 
are  darkening — 0  Dio! — over  yours,  my  Carlo,  when 
to  your  dear  life  comes  the  danger  of  Austrian  court- 
martial  !  " 

And  she  would  go  tearfully  to  his  arms  did  not,  at 
this  moment,  la  contessa  stand  before  them,  and  say, 
hurriedly :  "  Estelle,  the  key  of  our  stateroom !  I  for- 
got it  was  in  your  pocket." 

"  Oh — ah !  Yes,  I — I  forgot  it  also,"  replies  the  girl, 
and  hands  Eugenia  the  implement  demanded. 

"  Thanks,  no ;  I  still  have  my  mal  de  mer,"  she  re- 
plies to  Da  Messina's  polite  invitation  to  remain  with 
them,  though  he  is  relieved  as  she  goes  away,  for  it 
permits  him  to  place  a  good-night  kiss  upon  the  lips  of 
his  betrothed. 

But  il  cavaliere  would  probably  not  rest  so  well  in 
his  stateroom  this  evening  did  he  know  that  Eugenia, 
as  she  glided  to  them  with  very  light  steps  round  the 
wheelhouse,  glad  of  an  excuse  for  hearing  their  words 
of  privacy,  had  caught  Estelle's  last,  hasty  phrase,  "  the 
danger  of  an  Austrian  court-martial." 

This  indicates  some  business  Da  Messina  has  done 
for  Lombardian  liberty  in  France.  He  has  been  from 
Italy  so  long  that  Eugenia  is  now  almost  sure  his  visit 
to  Paris  has  not  been  altogether  to  bring  back  this 
bound-girl,  even  though  her  voice  gives  promise  of 
great  future  value  to  her  padrone.  In  addition,  she  is 
satisfied  that  this  girl,  dressed  as  a  child — for  she  is 
now  quite  well  assured  that  Estelle  is  older  than  her 
garb — loves  this  man.  "  This  is  enough  for  to-night  \  " 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  *55 

she  thinks.  "  To-morrow  will  bring  me  more !  And 
God  help  me,  I  must  have  more  for  Bolza !  "  and  tosses 
uneasily  upon  her  pillow,  as  she  goes  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning,  the  maritime  Alps  are  like  a  blue 
haze  upon  the  steamer's  port  bow,  and,  amid  the  chat- 
tering of  the  breakfast  table,  no  voices  are  lighter  than 
those  of  Da  Messina  and  the  two  ladies  under  his 
charge,  though  in  truth  everybody  on  the  boat  is  more 
or  less  anxious,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  English 
tourists,  bound  for  Sardinia  and  Sicily.  The  men  of 
trade,  Italian,  French,  and  German,  who  are  journeying 
to  Italy,  all  know  that  war  means  destruction  to  com- 
mercial interests.  Many  of  the  ladies  traveling  on  this 
ship  have  friends  or  relatives  in  the  Sardinian  army. 
A  couple  of  Austrian  officers,  returning  to  their  com- 
mands, are  very  well  aware  that  Radetzky  has  sent  for 
reinforcements,  which  can  not  get  to  him  before  spring. 
Even  Da  Messina's  thoughts  are  quite  often  far  away 
from  his  sweetheart.  The  future  of  the  next  few  weeks 
looms  up  before  this  Italian  conspirator  big  as  a  moun- 
tain rising  from  the  sea ! 

As  for  Estelle,  her  little  foot  is  tapping  the  deck  un- 
easily. Every  revolution  of  the  wheel  is  bringing  the 
man  she  loves  nearer  to  danger;  while,  gazing  at  them 
both,  sits  their  monitor,  pondering  how  to  find  some 
rift  in  the  armor  of  this  girl's  heart  that  will  open 
it  to  insidious  attack. 

A  few  minutes  after,  as  she  sits  on  the  camp-stool, 
Estelle  standing  by  her  side,  the  devil,  sitting  at  Eu- 
genia's dainty  elbow,  aids  her  happy  divination.  They 
are  alone  for  the  moment,  their  escort  having  been  car- 
ried forward  by  some  admirers,  who  have  recognized 
him,  to  enjoy  a  cigar,  one  of  the  pleasures  of  life  that 
is  now  drifting  away  from  him,  for  no  patriots  in 
Lombardy  use  tobacco,  upon  which  a  mighty  duty 
has  been  levied  by  their  oppressors. 

Near  them  are  the  two  Austrian  officers,  pacing  the 
deck  together.  Chancing  to  pause  in  the  turn  of  his 
promenade,  and  speaking  on  this  very  subject,  the 


156  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

elder,  a  captain,  says :  "  They  tell  me  that  la  bella 
Olinska,  who  warbles  so  sweetly  to  us  at  La  Scala, 
is  so  good  an  Italian  that  she  has  given  up,  rather 
than  pay  tax  upon  them,  her  favorite  cigarettes." 

"  Mein  Gott!"  guffaws  his  companion,  a  young  en- 
sign of  the  Regiment  Archduke  Charles.  "  They  also 
say  that  la  diva  has  given  up  Pergolese,  which  rather 
proves  that  she  has  become  an  Austrian." 

"Verfteuch!"  rejoins  his  senior.  "Sophie  is  too 
much  in  love  with  Pergolese  to  ever  relinquish  him.  I 
am  told  this  so-called  patriot-tenor  is  on  board — a  fool- 
ish fellow  to  go  back  to  Milan  just  at  present;  but  I 
presume  the  divine  Sophie  beckons  to  him." 

These  careless  remarks  have  been  overheard  by  both 
the  ladies.  Watching  Estelle  carefully,  Eugenia  sees 
in  her  eyes  an  anguish,  that  is  replaced  by  a  sudden 
potent  fire.  Catching  this,  the  astute  plotter  thinks : 
"  Oho !  A  mighty  jealousy  for  the  reigning  prima 
donna  at  La  Scala,  Sophie  Olinska,  whom  the  world 
calls  Pergolese's  mistress!  I  had  a  guess  of  this  be- 
fore !  This  is  my  opening  wedge  that  will  gain  me  the 
secrets  of  thy  maestro,  little  one !  " 

When  Da  Messina  returns  to  them,  the  coldness  of 
his  ward's  greeting  adds  to  la  contessa's  conviction, 
though  the  gentleman,  in  the  hurry  of  preparing  for 
disembarkation,  doesn't  seem  to  notice  that  his  prote- 
gee's eyes  turn  from  his. 

It  is  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  As  they  drive 
over  blue  water  straight  at  the  mountain  range,  a  rift 
in  the  Apennines  opens  before  them,  running  to  the  sea 
to  make  a  roadstead.  On  either  side,  two  great  light- 
housed  jetties,  the  Molo  Nuovo  and  the  Molo  Vecchio, 
fight  off  the  surf  to  give  greater  security  and  size  to 
the  harbor.  Behind  them,  terrace  upon  terrace,  straight 
from  the  water,  rise  the  marble  palaces  and  stately 
churches  of  Genoa,  gleaming  white  in  the  sun  upon 
the  hillsides,  and  shading  away  to  dirty  browns  and 
blues  in  the  ravines  nearer  the  water. 

"Genoa  la  snpcrba!"  cries  Carlo;  but  the  only  an- 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  157 

swer  he  gets  is  an  extremely  anxious  look  from  Estelle. 
She  knows  he  is  nearer  danger ;  that  beyond  the  single 
range  of  mountains  fronting  them  are  the  Austrian 
bayonets. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  their  vessel,  at  anchor  in 
the  harbor,  is  surrounded  by  a  concourse  of  shore  boats, 
manned  by  bronzed,  athletic  barcaroli,  of  dark,  flashing 
eyes,  and  vociferous  exclamations,  who  shout :  "  Un 
batello  signori,  unbatello!"  Selecting  one  of  these, 
they  are  rowed  toward  the  Ponte  Reale.  Here,  for  the 
first  time,  Eugenia  is  assured  that  Pegolese  loves  his 
ward. 

There  is  a  little  swell  upon  the  water  of  the  harbor, 
which,  dashing  upon  the  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the 
quay,  makes  them  slippery,  while  it  gives  an  uneasy 
motion  to'  the  boat.  Unaccustomed  to  the  sea,  Estelle 
hangs  back  timidly.  From  that  moment,  Da  Messina, 
intrusting  his  older  charge  to  one  of  the  Italian  boat- 
men, gives  all  his  attention  to  his  bound-girl. 

Perchance  piqued  at  Carlo's  neglect,  Signora  di  Vi- 
lermo,  turning  her  head  as  she  is  assisted  up  to  the  par- 
apet, notices  that  at  first  he  speaks  to  his  ward  reas- 
suringly. But  she  still  hesitating,  he  stoops,  and 
lifting  her  light  form  very  tenderly  and  carefully, 
makes  his  way  up  the  slippery  stairs,  whispering  into 
her  pretty  ear  what  the  boatmen,  perhaps,  think  are 
words  of  chiding;  but  this  woman  of  astute  mind, 
espying  the  blushing  face,  drooping  eyes,  and  tight 
clutch  of  his  burden's  arms  about  her  maestro,  knows 
are  words  of  love. 

In  another  second,  he  places  Estelle  upon  the  stone 
walk,  and  says,  lightly :  "  Run  along,  petite,  in  front 
of  me  and  la  contessa." 

Turning  to  obey,  she  pauses  for  a  moment,  aston- 
ished ;  then  her  eyes  light  up  with  pride  in  the  man 
she  loves,  for  the  boatmen,  refusing  fare,  are  all  with 
doffed  caps  and  bowed  heads,  saying :  "  Welcome  to 
Italia,  Pergolese ! '' 

In  a  moment  three  bronzed  forms  are  bearing  their 


158  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

luggage  in  front  of  them,  and,  jostling  their  way  along 
the  crowded  Porto,  which  is  just  at  present  blocked  by 
a  column  of  marching  infantry,  for  everything  shows 
that  the  town  is  heavily  garrisoned  and  upon  a  war 
footing. 

Five  minutes  after,  they  are  at  a  nearby  hotel,  the 
Croce  di  Malta.  Here  they  select  a  charming  suite  of 
three  bedrooms  and  a  parlor,  into  which  very  shortly 
both  ladies  come,  retoileted,  after  their  voyage,  Eugenia 
looking  almost  stately,  though  exceedingly  graceful,  in 
a  black  evening  robe,  while,  in  exact  contradistinction, 
Estelle  is  dressed  in  a  little  white  foulard  frock,  deftly 
constructed  by  a  modiste  in  Marseilles  to  make  her  ex- 
tremely youthful. 

Looking  at  his  watch,  Da  Messina  remarks :  "  I 
would  have  taken  diligence  this  evening  to  Milan,  but 
the  only  one  we  could  catch  is  at  seven  o'clock,  and  I 
feared,  after  the  sea  voyage,  you  were  too  tired  for  a 
continuous  eighteen-hour  ride."  As  he  speaks,  his  eyes 
turn  tenderly  toward  Estelle. 

Noting  this,  it  perchance  hardens  Eugenia's  heart  to 
this  handsome  fellow,  whom  she  is  to  betray;  for  la 
contessa  would  quite  willingly  give  herself  to  this  gen- 
tleman if  she  could  only  win,  by  his  confidence,  her 
safety  from  Bolza.  But  with  a  very  astute  mind,  she 
has  determined  that  this  man  is  in  love  with  but  one 
lady  in  the  party — and  that  is  his  bound-girl.  "  Of 
course,  he  has  but  to  call  her  to  him,  and  she  dare  not 
disobey !  "  she  sneers. 

After  dinner,  which  they  take  in  the  public  dining- 
room,  Signora  di  Vilermo,  apparently  willing  to  give 
Carlo  and  Estelle  tete-a-tete,  leaves  them,  on  the  plea 
that  she  has  a  visit  to  make  to  some  friends  in  the 
town. 

So,  after  nightfall,  the  two,  with  no  one  between 
them,  stroll  out  to  enjoy  a  moonlight  ramble  over  the 
center  of  the  city. 

A  very  few  steps  take  them  to  the  Strada  degli  Ore- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS.  1 59 

fici,  where  that  wondrous  filigree  work  of  gold  and 
silver,  peculiar  to  Genoa,  is  manufactured. 

And  some  magnificent  specimens  coming  under  their 
eyes,  Carlo  escorts  his  ward  into  one  of  the  shops,  and 
buys  for  her  slender  waist  a  very  beautiful,  golden 
band.  "  It  is  my  first  present  to  thee,  but  here  is  an- 
other," he  remarks,  and,  leading  her  into  the  street,  slips 
upon  the  second  finger  of  her  left  hand  a  jeweled  ring, 
whispering,  ardently :  "  In  proof  of  my  troth." 

With  this,  surprise  strikes  him,  for  the  girl  kisses  it 
rapturously,  but  instantly  removes  it  from  her  finger, 
and,  concealing  it  in  her  bosom,  says,  simply :  "  Thy 
safety  demands  that  thy  bound-girl  does  not  wear  this 
openly.  It  would  be  a  curious  thing  for  my  padrone  to 
be  known  as  the  affianced  of  his  property — for  that's 
what  I  am  under  Italian  law,  as  near  as  nineteenth  cen- 
tury jurisprudence  can  make  it." 

Then  she  puts  up  a  rather  piteous  face  to  him,  and 
pleads :  "  Can't  I  have  a  little  money  to  spend,  Carlo?  " 
For  in  the  company  of  another  woman,  who  has  plenty 
in  her  pocket,  Estelle  has  begun  to  feel  in  the  emptiness 
of  her  purse  the  absolute  dependence  of  her  state. 

"  Certainly !  "  he  says,  quickly.  "  Only  you  must 
spend  it  immediately,  because  a  rich  apprentice  would 
be  an  anomaly.  Do  you  want  to  buy  anything?  " 

"  Oh,  so  much !  I  wish  to  get  some  of  that  beautiful 
work  in  that  shop  for  a  lady  who  has  been  very  kind 
to  me." 

"  Sapristi!    The  one  you  cried  about  two  days  ago?  " 

"  Yes.    Eugenia  and  I  are  comrades  now." 

"  Why,  certainly !  Buy  for  la  contessa  what  you 
please,  and  any  time  you  need  money,  come  to  me. 
Only,  don't  have  in  your  pocket  more  than  a  few  francs 
at  a  time.  On  little  things  depend  much  greater  ones." 

Going  in,  Estelle  selects  a  magnificent  piece  of  Genoa 
filigree  to  give  as  a  present  to  the  woman  who  has 
gained  her  confidence  to  betray  her. 

Then  the  two  climb  the  hill,  and,  turning  along  the 
Via  Carlo  Felice,  pass  the  great  opera  house  of  that 


160  ADRTENNE  1>E   PORTALIS. 

name,  where  Pergolese  tells  his  sweetheart  he  made  his 
debut  on  the  Italian  stage. 

"  Santa  Maria!  "  he  laughs,  looking  toward  the  build- 
ing whose  great  facade  is  lighted  up,  a  crowd  of  car- 
riages and  loungers  about  it.  "  Mario  and  Grisi  are 
singing  '  Lucrezia  Borgia.'  Would  you  like  to  step 
over  with  me,  petite,  and  hear  an  act  or  two  of  Doni- 
zetti?" 

"  Oh,  delightful !    But  my  dress  ?  " 

"  Is  well  enough  for  a  child  like  thee."  He  pats  her 
cheek  playfully.  "  Besides,  in  a  loge  you  will  scarce  be 
noticed." 

So  the  two  cross  the  street,  and  Estelle  gets  some 
little  inkling  of  what  it  means  to  be  a  popular  tenor  in 
enthusiastic  Italy.  Even  in  the  entrance,  half  a  dozen 
hackmen  doff  their  hats,  and  murmur  "  Pergolese !  "  as 
if  they  were  praying  to  a  saint. 

The  next  second,  the  manager  comes  flying  from  his 
private  office,  and,  with  cries  of  love,  embraces  her 
padrone,  as  she  stands  bashfully  looking  on. 

But,  apparently  not  caring  for  an  ovation,  her  ma- 
estro, after  a  few  words  stating  his  wishes,  and  also  re- 
questing that  his  presence  be  not  made  known,  beckons 
his  ward  to  him,  and  presents  the  impresario  to  her,  say- 
ing :  "  This  little  lady  is  my  favorite  pupil."  Then, 
calling  a  passing  flower-girl,  he  asks :  "  Would  you 
like  some  posies,  Estelle,  to  toss  to  the  sweetest  tenor  in 
the  world  ?  It  is  the  custom  among  ladies  here."  And, 
without  waiting  for  her  assent,  he  fills  his  bound-girl's 
hands  with  bunches  of  white  blossoms,  over  which  her 
eyes  gaze  in  loving  gratitude  at  this  man,  whose  rule, 
though  absolute,  is  so  tender. 

Then,  he  escorting  her  as  if  she  were  a  grande  dame, 
ihey  are  conducted  to  the  manager's  box  upon  the  grand 
tier,  where  Estelle  sits  quietly  behind  the  shoulder  of 
her  guardian,  and  looks  out  upon  the  great  Italian  opera 
house,  with  its  crowded,  clamorous  pit,  and  boxes,  tier 
on  tier,  filled  with  the  fashion,  beauty,  and  wealth  of 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  l6l 

what  is  probably  the  most  aristocratic  seaport  in  the 
world. 

Taking  advantage  of  a  lull  in  the  music,  Da  Mes- 
sina, who  has  remained  at  the  back  of  the  loge,  ex- 
plains to  her  that  she  will  see  more  of  the  social  side 
of  the  affair  during  the  entre  acte,  when  general  visit- 
ing between  friends  takes  place,  and  refreshments  are 
passed  about.  "Sapristi!"  he  laughs.  "I  already 
smell  the  macaroni  a  la  Napoli  the  economists  in  the  up- 
per boxes  are  cooking  for  their  suppers." 

But  his  protegee,  in  the  lovely  strains  of  Donizetti's 
masterpiece,  soon  forgets  all  else  except  the  exquisite 
phrasing  and  charming  singing  of  Mario,  as  he  rings 
out,  perchance,  the  sweetest  song  ever  written  for  the 
tenor  voice,  "  //  Pescatore."  And,  at  the  rapturous 
close,  carried  away  by  excitement,  she  trips  to  the  front 
of  the  box,  and,  imitating  other  ladies,  tosses  some  of 
the  flowers  in  her  hand  to  the  sweet-voiced  tenor. 

Then  suddenly,  fearing  her  maestro  will  be  jealous, 
she  turns  to  him,  and,  kissing  a  white  rose,  places  it  in 
his  buttonhole,  murmuring :  "  Forgive  me !  " 

"For  what  —  liking  Mario's  singing?"  he  laughs. 
"  Cospetto !  I  am  enthusiastic  about  the  fellow  myself." 

So,  the  curtain  having  fallen  on  numerous  encores, 
and  Pergolese  himself  getting  excited,  and  stepping  to 
the  front  of  his  box  to  applaud,  someone  in  the  audi- 
ence chances  to  catch  sight  of  his  well-known  features, 
curly  hair,  and  flashing  eyes.  In  almost  a  second  the 
cry  has  gone  up  :  "  Pergolese  !  Viva  Pergolese !  "  and 
the  audience  would  probably  break  forth  in  a  furor 
of  applause  for  the  artist,  for  already  opera  glasses  are 
being  directed  at  him,  and  ladies  in  the  neighboring 
boxes  toss  flowers  upon  him,  great  heaps  of  them,  that 
they  had  kept  for  Grisi,  and  hands  are  commencing  to 
smite  each  other  in  the  pit,  did  not  of  a  sudden  someone 
in  the  gallery  cry:  "  Viva  Pergolese!"  and  "  EWIVA 
L'ITALIA  !  "  And  the  ovation  changes  from  homage  to 
the  artist  whom  they  love  to  homage  to  the  patriot  that 
they  adore. 


162  ADRIENNE  BE  PORTAL1S. 

"  Viva  Mazzini !  Viva  Garibaldi !  Viva  Pergolese ! 
Viva  Carlo  Alberto ! "  And  the  audience,  in  their 
crazy,  Italian  way,  begin  singing  the  hymn  of  Pio 
Nono,  that  pontiff,  who,  it  was  expected,  would  lend 
his  might  for  Italian  unity. 

While  this  is  going  on,  the  orchestra,  actuated  by 
some  curious  freak,  are  flying  back  to  their  instruments, 
and,  in  the  midst  of  this,  Mario,  costumed  as  the  fisher- 
man, dashes  into  the  box,  and  the  two  great  artists  em- 
brace each  other,  the  elder  saying  that  Madame  Grisi 
begs  that  Pergolese  will  come  behind  the  scenes  to  see 
her. 

But  just  here  everything  seems  to  stop  in  the  house. 
The  curtain  is  rolling  up,  the  chorus  are  grouped  about 
the  stage,  Tomassi,  the  leader,  is  waving  his  baton  like 
a  crazy  man,  and  up  rolls  "O  S ignore  dal  tetto  natio!  " 
that  great  chorus  from  Verdi's  "/  Lombardi,"  which 
was  now  the  battle-hymn  of  the  Milanse  against  their 
Austrian  tyrants.  Then  the  whole  house  takes  up  the 
strain,  and  Pergolese,  perhaps  remembering  a  brother 
killed  for  singing  of  Italian  liberty,  after  one  great 
flush  of  triumph,  sinks  down  on  the  seat,  sobbing  like 
a  child. 

As  for  Estelle,  she  has  gone  frantic  with  the  rest  of 
the  audience.  She  is  applauding  with  her  two  little 
hands,  singing,  as  crazily  as  any  of  them,  the  Lombar- 
dian  hymn,  and  crying :  "  Viva  Garibaldi !  Viva  Maz- 
zini !  Ewiva  I' Italia ! "  as  loud  as  any  of  the  mad 
boys  in  the  gallery.  She  is  even  slapping  the  shoulder 
of  this  maestro  whom  she  fears,  and  crying,  like  some 
of  the  wild  ones  in  the  pit:  "  Abasso  Austria!" 

But,  just  at  this  moment,  some  man  in  the  gallery 
chancing  to  cry  out,  " Maladetto  Mazzini!"  there  be- 
gins an  incipient  riot. 

Whereupon  the  manager  of  the  theater,  flying  into 
their  box,  falls  on  his  knees  before  Pergolese,  and,  with 
clasped  hands,  beseeches :  "  Good  friend,  great  artist 
whom  I  love,  please  God,  get  out  of  here,  or  the  per- 
formance won't  go  on !  They  will  tear  the  benches  up 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  163 

and  twist  the  gas-fixtures  out  of  their  sockets !  I  know 
my  mob  when  they  start !  For  the  love  of  God,  get  you 
gone,  my  patriot,  tnio  caro  Pergolese !  I  will  show  you 
a  private  stairway." 

With  this,  the  tenor,  anxious  to  oblige  his  friend,  and 
probably  reflecting  that,  when  he  passes  under  Aus- 
trian rule,  this  outburst  will  do  him  no  good,  follows 
the  impresario  out,  Estelle  tripping  behind  them,  a  great 
triumph  upon  her  face;  for  this  man  she  loves  is  hon- 
ored by  his  people. 

But  the  color  leaves  even  her  lips  as  they  pass  out  of 
the  side  entrance.  She  catches  the  solemn  words  of  one 
gentleman  whispering  to  another :  "  I  am  very  sorry 
for  this  affair.  The  Austrian  police  won't  forgive  this. 
If  they  can  but  get  an  overt  act  out  of  Pergolese,  he 
is  gone  like  the  Bandiera  brothers,  Menotti,  and  so 
many  others  who  have  worked  for  United  Italy." 

Lingering  to  hear  this  cruel  prediction,  Estelle  is 
called  by  her  guardian  from  a  carriage :  "  Quick,  little 
one — jump  in  beside  me  !  "  And  they  riding  home,  she 
buries  her  head  in  his  shoulder  and  sobs,  partly  from 
excited  nerves,  but  chiefly  from  fear  for  the  being  she 
loves. 

"  Italian  liberty  is  too  strong  for  your  delicate  frame 
and  ardent  heart,"  he  says.  "  I  have  been  thinking  that 
I  have  no  right  to  risk  you  upon  the  scene  of  insurrec- 
tion, even  if  my  not  bringing  an  apprentice  to  Milan 
does  look  suspicious  to  Bolza  and  his  secret  police.  So 
I  shall  place  you  with  a  family  here." 

But  she,  throwing  her  arms  around  him,  clings  to 
him  tight  as  the  death  she  fears  may  come  upon  him, 
and  whispers  :  "  Anything  but  that !  With  you  gone 
from  me  to  the  land  of  conflict,  I  shall  die  of  apprehen- 
sion !  No,  no,  my  Carlo !  I  have  not  won  thee  to  lose 
thee  in  four  days !  Not  even  Austrian  bullets  shall  put 
me  from  you !  " 

"  Then  we  will  go  together !  "  he  whispers  to  her,  and 
she,  nestling  her  hand  in  his,  dries  her  eyes  as  they 
reach  their  hotel. 


164  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

•  .  •  .  . 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

"  NOW  IT  IS  THY  HEAD  OR  MINE !  " 

At  the  Croce  di  Malta,  they  find  the  contessa  await- 
ing them,  and  Estelle  giving  to  Eugenia  her  present 
very  prettily,  puts  not  only  astonishment  at  its  value, 
but  such  a  pang  into  this  woman's  heart  that,  if  it  were 
not  her  head  or  Pergolese's,  she  would  let  Estelle's  lover 
go  his  way,  and  perchance  even  give  him  warning. 

But  while  Carlo  and  his  ward  have  been  at  the  the- 
ater, she  has  wandered  covertly  to  a  steep  and  out-of- 
the-way  street,  near  the  Muro  dei  Zingari.  Here  to 
her  cautious  rapping  has  been  opened  the  deep-set  door 
of  a  large  house.  A  moment  later  she  is  in  consulta- 
tion with  Donetto,  who  is  en  secret  in  this  town,  where 
his  life  would  scarce  be  worth  a  maravedi,  were  he 
known  as  the  agent  of  the  Austrian  police. 

After  receiving  her  report,  he  has  said  to  her,  severe- 
ly :  "  What  you  bring  me  means  nothing,  Madame ! 
Bolza  must  have  evidence  of  some  overt  act,  by  which 
he  can  destroy  this  accursed  conspirator,  whom  I  be- 
lieve they  are  feting  even  now  at  the  Carlo  Felice,  and 
information  such  as  will  defeat  the  entry  of  arms  into 
Lombardy.  You  understand  exactly  how  you  stand," 
he  continues.  "  It  is  practically  Pergolese  or  you !  So 
work  for  thy  immunity  from  Bolza's  wrath,  bclla  don- 
na! In  case  you  are  compelled  to  write,  address  me  as 
formerly.  I  shall  be  in  Milan  in  four  days,  and  my 
name  is  not  known  as  Bolza's  to  these  conspirators." 
And  he  bows  la  contessa  out,  a  frantic  eagerness  in  her 
soul  to  discover  what  will  save  her. 

The  next  morning,  her  mind  being  spurred  to  alert- 
ness, an  incident,  insignificant  in  itself,  comes  to  her 
that  gives  her  a  little  hope.  As  is  usual,  two  dili- 
gences leave  each  day  for  Milan,  one  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  and  the  other  at  seven  in  the  evening. 
The  trip  takes  about  eighteen  hours.  The  two  o'clock 


ADRIENNE   DE    PORTALIS.  165 

conveyance  will  be  the  most  convenient,  for  by  it  they 
will  arrive  in  the  Lombardian  capital  in  the  morning. 
But  Pergolese,  though  he  apparently  has  nothing  to  do 
except  to  shake  hands  with  admirers  of  art  and  Italian 
liberty  who  come  to  the  hotel  in  flocks,  remarks  that 
they  will  not  leave  until  seven  o'clock. 

This  selection  of  an  inconvenient  hour  of  departure 
doesn't  seem  logical  to  a  woman  whose  intellect  has 
been  sharpened  by  her  fears.  Though  Pergolese  says 
he  has  business,  Eugenia  can  not  discover  it,  as  he  is  in 
her  company  and  that  of  his  ward  most  of  the  day. 
Therefore,  she  is  pretty  confident  he  has  some  hidden 
reason  for  taking  the  seven  o'clock  vehicle. 

Turning  this  over  in  her  mind,  these  things  strike  her 
strongly :  Leaving  at  two  o'clock,  they  reach  Milan  in 
the  morning,  but  cross  the  Austrian  frontier  in  the 
night.  Leaving  at  seven  o'clock,  they  arrive  at  Milan 
in  the  afternoon,  but  pass  into  Lombardy  after  the  sun 
is  well  up.  The  only  reason  she  can  imagine  for  Per- 
golese's  selection  of  the  latter  trip  is  that  he  wishes  to 
cross  the  frontier  after  people  are  up  and  doing. 

"Santa  Maria!  The  frontier  after  daylight!"  she 
reflects.  "  He  must  want  to  see  somebody  there,  who 
might  be  asleep  and  not  to  be  encountered  during  the 
night!  What  was  it  that  both  Benuchio  and  Donetto 
said  to  me :  '  Discover  what  will  defeat  the  entry  of 
arms  into  Lombardy !  '  The  supreme  difficulty  with 
their  transportation,  of  course,  will  be  at  the  frontier. 
Mayhap,  it  is  somebody  about  this  business  that  my 
Italian  conspirator  wishes  to  meet." 

But  this  is  only  a  faint  suggestion  to  her  mind,  and, 
though  it  determines  her  to  watch  the  proceedings  of 
Carlo  very  closely,  as  they  make  their  journey  to  Milan, 
she  has  no  great  hope  of  it ;  and,  with  a  rather  sad  face, 
accompanies  Pergolese  and  his  ward  when  he  sug- 
gests a  drive  up  to  the  Acqua  Sola. 

Here  they  wander  through  the  gardens,  and  finally  sit 
down  not  very  far  from  the  peculiar,  old  fountain, 
whose  curious  bowl  is  decorated  with  hideous  heads, 


166  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALTS. 

from  whose  grinning  mouths  the  water  dashes,  yet  a 
little  out  of  the  crowd,  listening,  this  Sunday  afternoon, 
to  the  fine  military  band. 

As  he  lounges,  Da  Messina,  asking  the  permission 
not  only  of  the  contessa,  but  also,  to  that  lady's  aston- 
ishment, the  assent  of  his  bound-girl,  lights  a  cigar. 
Lazily  blowing  the  smoke  in  rings  about  him,  with  the 
sadness  of  a  confirmed  lover  of  the  weed,  he  remarks : 
"  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  be  like  a  man  who  has 
lost  his  best  friend !  " 

"  Thy  best  friend  ?  "  falters  Estelle,  reproach  in  her 
radiant  eyes. 

"  You  mean  your  cigars  ?  "  laughs  la  contessa. 

"  Yes,"  he  answers,  "  though  'tis  naught  to  be  merry 
over.  After  we  cross  the  frontier,  to-morrow,  I  am 
divorced  from  tobacco." 

"  And  why  ?  "  asks  his  ward,  who  does  not  altogether 
understand  this  peculiarity  of  Lombardian  patriotism. 

"  Why  ?  Because  the  Committee  have  recommended 
that  no  Milanese  use  cigars  or  tobacco,  the  monopoly  of 
which  pays  our  rulers  such  enormous  tax  that  it  en- 
ables Austria  to  support  the  garrisons  that  hold  us 
slaves,"  he  says  bitterly.  "  Diavolo !  If  I  had  this 
sweet  morsel  in  my  mouth,  I  would  probably  have  my 
cigar  pulled  from  between  my  lips  by  the  first  true 
Italian  who  saw  me  on  the  Corso,  or  the  Piazza  Duomo, 
of  my  city.  Corpo  di  San  Marco!  I'd  do  it  myself  to 
another  man !  "  * 

"  So  you  will  not  be  able  to  smoke  because  it  will  put 

*  This  curious  action  of  the  Milanese  patriots  of  1848  came  about  in  this 
manner : 

Austria  had  made  a  government  monopoly  of  tobacco,  and  from  it  derived 
a  large  portion  of  its  revenue.  The  Milanese,  to  cripple  their  rulers,  decided 
to  absolutely  abstain  from  all  use  of  the  weed,  and  kept  that  resolve  with 
astounding  resolution  for  a  community  where  cigarettes  were  as  their  daily 
bread. 

An  obsolete  by-law  of  Milan  forbade  smoking  in  the  streets  of  the  city. 
This  law  the  patriots  revived,  and  if  an  Austrian  officer  was  seen  with  a  cigar 
in  the  streets  he  was  likely  to  be  assaulted.  The  bloody  scuffle  of  January  3, 
1848,  in  which  eight  townspeople  were  killed  and  ntarly  fifty  wounded,  arose 
from  this,  as,  when  the  Milanese  gave  up  smoking,  the  Austrian  soldiers 
in  derision  smoked  everywhere,  and  puffed  the  breath  of  their  nostrils  into 
Italian  faces  — Collated  from  History  of  Lombnrdo  Venetio  Insurrection  of 
1848— Italy  in  tkt  Nineteenth.  Century,  and  L&eration  of  Italy,  by  Contessa 

•*6aresco.— ED. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  167 

money  into  the' pocket  of  the  Austrian  government?" 
asks  Estelle,  gazing  into  his  face  wistfully.  Then  she 
half  laughs :  "  Dio  mio,  without  tobacco  for  thy  nerves, 
thou  wilt  soon  become  very  cross  to  me !  "  adding,  with 
a  most  alluring  moue:  "  Eugenia,  when  I  am  chided 
in  Milan,  it  will  not  be  because  I  am  naughty,  but  be- 
cause Pergolese  does  not  smoke." 

"  Ma  foi,  I  fear  it  will  not  make  me  good-natured !  " 
Carlo  grins,  though  his  mirth  has  a  yellow  tinge 
about  it. 

But  here,  some  idea  coming  into  his  protegee's  bright 
mind,  she  queries,  anxiously :  "  If  they  didn't  pay  duty, 
I  suppose  there  would  be  no  harm  in  cigars?  " 

"  Not  a  sou  marquee!"  he  replies.  "  Don't  you  see, 
in  Genoa,  I  am  smoking  like  Vesuvius." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do,  Carlo  mio ! "  cries  Estelle,  in  the 
careless  happiness  of  love. 

But  here,  noticing  a  frown  upon  her  guardian's  face 
at  her  lack  of  caution,  and  a  look  of  astonishment  in 
Signora  di  Vilermo's  eyes  at  the  familiarity  of  a  bound- 
girl's  speech,  she  falters:  "  Oh,  pardon — mio  padrone! 
Please — please !  "  and,  rising,  stands  before  him,  and 
renders  to  him  a  very  graceful,  and  exceedingly  hum- 
ble, courtesy. 

"Diavolo!  Tis  hard  to  be  stern  with  thee!"  he 
remarks.  "  Your  sweet  face  would  disarm  even  the 
dreaded  Bolza." 

At  this,  la  contessa  winces,  as  if  stung  by  the  lash, 
but  neither  Da  Messina  nor  his  ward  notice  her — they 
both  have  eyes,  about  this  time,  only  for  each  other. 

A  few  minutes  after  this,  chancing  to  be  alone  with 
him — Eugenia  having,  in  her  deft  way,  given  them  a 
tete-a-tete — Estelle  suddenly  whispers  to  her  guardian, 
quite  bashfully,  but  very  pleadingly:  "Mio  padrone, 
can't  I,  please,  have  a  little  money  to  spend  to-day?  " 

"  For  what  do  you  wish  it,  petite?  " 

"  Oh,  some  young-lady  shopping !  " 

"On  Sunday?" 

"  Yes.    I  know  a  shop  that  is  open.    Why  should  I 


1 68  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

not  ?  Eugenia  and  I  have  been  at  mass  this  morning  at 
the  San  Lorenzo,  so  I  am  good  for  all  day.  Please,  mio 
padrone,  please !  "  She  makes  a  caress  now  of  the  term 
of  servitude  she  once  loathed. 

"  Darling,  if  I  only  dared !  "  he  stammers ;  then  mut- 
ters, suddenly :  "  Help  thyself !  "  and  hands  her  his 
purse. 

Out  of  this,  casting  a  furtive  glance  at  him,  she  grabs 
half  a  dozen  gold  pieces,  and  into  his  ear  flutters: 
"  Please  pardon  my  extravagance." 

"  Why  should  you  not  spend  it"?  "  he  whispers,  in  a 
shamefaced  way.  "  It  is  thy  own  money,  of  which  1 
have  robbed  you,  little  one." 

These  gold  pieces  seem  to  make  the  robbed  one  very 
happy,  for  even  as  they  drive  back  to  the  hotel,  she  is 
laughingly  tossing  the  coins  up  in  the  air,  and  saying, 
archly :  "  Eugenia  has  promised  to  go  shopping  with 
me!" 

At  this  sight  of  gold,  la  contessa  raises  her  eyebrows, 
rather  astonished  at  a  padrone's  liberality ;  though  by 
this  time  she  has  made  up  her  mind,  with  Continental 
and  Bohemian  freedom,  that  Estelle  is  probably  the 
child  of  well-to-do  parents,  and  has  been  bound  to  Per- 
golese,  not  because  of  her  poverty,  but  because  he  can 
train  her  exquisite  voice  better  than  any  teacher  in 
Italy ;  also,  that  the  padrone  has  fallen  in  love  with 
his  beautiful  captive,  and,  when  she  is  a  little  older,  in- 
tends to  make  her  his  mistress,  even  if  she  is  not  that 
already. 

Some  things  now  occur  to  add  strength  to  this 
opinion. 

They  have  scarce  alighted  from  the  carriage  in 
front  of  the  Croce  di  Malta,  when  Estelle,  with  a 
little  courtesy,  says :  "  If  you  don't  mind  trusting  me 
with  Eugenia,  we  will  go  for  our  shopping,  mio  pa- 
drone." 

"  Certainly  not !  "  replies  Da  Messina,  who  thinks  it 
is  some  lady's  fol  de  rol  she  wants,  and  doesn't  care, 
probably  from  bashfulness,  to  consult  him  about  it. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  169 

But  as  he  turns  away,  he  adds :  "  I  have  a  little  busi- 
ness, myself,  with  a  friend  or  two."  Information  that 
makes  Eugenia  more  anxious  to  accompany  him  than 
his  ward. 

But  she  has  no  time  to  think  of  this,  for,  getting 
her  to  an  out-of-the-way  corridor  of  the  hotel,  Estelle 
whispers  such  curious  questions  that  astonishment  takes 
all  else  out  of  la  contessa's  head.  She  stands,  gasping 
with  open  mouth,  as  Pergolese's  apprentice  follows  this 
up  by  asking,  anxiously :  "  If  they  caught  me,  what 
would  they  do  to  me  ?  " 

"  Imprison  you,  my  poor  child !  " 

"  Then  I'll  try  it !  I  don't  want  him  to  be  unhappy. 
You  can  testify,  if  I  am  caught,  that  he  did  not  know 
anything  about  it." 

"  But,  then,  I  will  be  accessory  before  the  act,"  dis- 
sents Signora  di  Vilermo,  "  and  the  customs  regula- 
tions are  very  severe." 

"  Peste !  Take  a  little  risk  for  a  friend,  as  we  used 
to  say  in  the  convent  when  the  mother  superior  gave  us 
penance  for  refusing  to  report  each  other,  won't  you  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Eugenia  hesitates,  then  suddenly  says  : 
"  Well,  if  you  wish  it !  "  For  into  her  mind  has  flown 
this  thought :  "  Here  is  a  grand  step  toward  the  confi- 
dence of  my  conspirator's  sweetheart." 

So,  the  two  trip  hastily  off  together  to  a  little  to- 
bacconist's, in  the  old-fashioned  Via  Luca,  where  three 
ragged  boys  and  a  man,  leading  a  couple  of  donkeys, 
look  in  the  window  at  the  bella  figlia,  as  Estelle  pur- 
chases a  hundred  fine  Regalias,  saying,  apologetically, 
to  the  old  shopman :  "  They  are  not  for  me,  Signore, 
but  for  a  very  good  friend." 

"  Oh,  la,  la !  That's  what  all  ladies  say  when  they 
buy  cigars,  though  these  are  quite  large  for  your  young 
lips,"  chuckles  the  old  fellow,  as  he  does  up  the  boxes. 

As  they  stroll  back,  Estelle  carrying  her  purchase, 
carefully  wrapped  up  and  concealed  in  her  cloak,  la  con- 
tessa,  a  query  in  her  voice,  remarks :  "  I  wonder  you 


I7O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

have  so  kind  a  feeling  for  your  padrone,  when  he  is  so 
stern  to  you." 

"  Stern  to  me?  "    You  are  crazy !  " 

"  Not  at  all.  The  night  you  arrived  in  Marseilles, 
didn't  I  hear  your  sobs  and  piteous  entreaties,  when  he 
beat  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  murmurs  Estelle,  her  face  growing  red 
with  humiliation.  "  Yes,  but  I — I  deserved  it."  Then, 
anxious  to  defend  the  man  she  loves,  in  voluble  un- 
truth, she  adds :  "  It  was  his  duty  to  punish  me !  But, 
you  see  how  kind  he  is  to  me — when  I  am  good.  You 
know  he  is  good  to  me !  "  she  cries,  indignantly.  "  Oth- 
erwise, why  did  you  wish  to  become  his  apprentice  like 
me  ?  You — you  needn't  deny  it !  I  saw  you  meant  it 
by  your  face  in  the  moonlight  on  the  steamer's  deck." 

At  this,  Eugenia  bursts  out  laughing,  and  gets  a  step 
closer  to  Estelle's  heart,  as  she  whispers :  "  No  need 
to  be  jealous,  petite.  Pergolese  has  eyes  only  for  one 
bound-girl,  and  that  is  Mademoiselle  Chartres." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  cries  Estelle,  clapping  her 
hands  joyously,  and  snuggling  close  to  Signora  di  Vi- 
lermo. 

So,  coming  to  the  Croce  di  Malta,  the  ladies  find  that 
Pergolese  has  not  yet  returned,  and  go  to  their  rooms, 
where,  in  strict  privacy,  with  trembling  fingers,  Estelle 
devotes  an  hour  to  making  some  peculiar  preparations 
in  her  toilet  for  the  journey. 

Some  little  time  after  this,  il  cavaliere  returning,  they 
have  a  quiet  dinner  in  their  parlor,  and,  as  soon  as  the 
meal  is  over,  the  ladies  retire  to  costume  for  the  trip, 
leaving  Pergolese  smoking,  a^  he  says,  his  last  apres 
diner  cigar.  This  does  not  take  very  long,  and  their 
luggage  being  sent  ahead  of  them,  the  night  being  fine, 
they  follow  it  on  foot  to  the  diligence  office,  which  is 
but  a  step  from  the  Croce  di  Malta. 

Here  they  find  the  coach  quite  empty,  travelers  gen- 
erally journeying  from  the  scene  of  expected  insurrec- 
tion, rather  than  toward  it,  Da  Messina  remarking  that 
he  has  had  no  trouble  in  engaging  the  whole  <K  the 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  1 71 

coupe.  As  their  passports  are  being  viseed,  he  wraps 
up  Estelle  very  carefully,  saying :  "  It  will  be  quite  cool 
as  we  cross  the  crest  of  the  mountains." 

A  few  minutes  later,  he  having  carefully  assisted  the 
ladies  to  their  places,  the  coach  rumbles  away  over  the 
stony  streets. 

"  We  always  have  the  coupe  in  the  diligence,"  Es- 
telle says,  laughingly.  "  It  is  our  fate.  Don't  you  re- 
member, Radetzky,  at  Troyes,  sat  in  the  front  seat, 
where  Eugenia  is  now." 

"  Radetzky !  "  cries  Signora  di  Vilermo,  astonished. 

"  But  not  the  great  marshal,"  replies  Carlo. 

"  Only  his  nephew,  Captain  Franz,  of  the  Regiment 
Maria  Theresa,  on  the  staff  of  the  Governor  of  Lorn* 
bardy,"  prattles  Estelle,  sitting,  very  happy,  close  be- 
side her  guardian. 

"A  fede,  you  seem  to  remember  the  captain  very 
well !  "  laughs  Da  Messina. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  You  should  remember  him,  too. 
You  saved  his  life.  Why,  only  a  week  ago  to-night, 
when  he  left  us  at  Lyons,  you  embraced  each  other.  It 
was  Franz  and  Carlo  between  you  then.  He  loves  you 
because  you  saved  his  life,  mio  padrone." 

Then  she  suddenly  babbles  on :  "  It  would  not  sur- 
prise me  if  he  met  us  at  the  office  of  the  diligence  upon 
our  arrival  in  Milan." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  "  asks  her  maestro. 

"  Because  I  wrote  to  him  by  last  night's  post  that  we 
were  coming." 

"  Diavolo !    You  sp°m  anxious  to  let  him  know !  " 

"  He — he  asked  me  to,"  Estelle  adds,  frankly,  though 
she  stammers  a  little,  noticing  that  Da  Messina's  man- 
ner indicates  he  is  not  altogether  pleased  at  her  cor- 
respondence with  the  Austrian  captain. 

But  the  diligence  rumbling  over  a  Tittle  bridge  across 
the  Polcevera,  which  is  foaming  along  its  stony  bed, 
Estelle,  perhaps  to  avoid  Carlo's  eyes,  puts  her  head 
out  of  the  window  to  inspect  the  moonlit  river.  "  Oh, 


172  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

look,  Eugenia !  Isn't  it  a  savage,  little  torrent  ?  "  she 
cries. 

"  Ma  foi,  since  both  you  ladies  are  enjoying  the  scen- 
ery, with  your  permission,  I  will  enjoy  a  cigar,"  re- 
marks the  cavaliere.  "  I  think  I  have  just  about  enough 
of  these  to  let  me  reach  the  Austrian  custom-house 
without  a  single  dutiable  whiff." 

At  this  there  is  a  subdued  snicker  from  Estelle,  who 
is  still  gazing  out  of  the  window ;  but  in  the  ecstasy  of 
one  of  his  big  celestriales,  Carlo  doesn't  note  his  sweet- 
heart's suppressed  mirth. 

Shortly  after  this,  the  conversation  from  sleepy  mono- 
syllables gradually  dwindles  to  silence. 

The  night  is  well  upon  them.  They  are  slowly  climb- 
ing the  Apennines,  and  Estelle,  nestling  her  head  upon 
her  padrone's  shoulder,  goes  to  sleep.  As  Carlo  finishes 
his  second  cigar,  he  notes  that  the  contessa  is  already 
in  the  land  of  Nod,  and  his  arm  steals  about  the  slight 
waist  of  the  sleeping  figure  next  to  him. 

So  they  journey  by  Ronco,  near  the  crest  of  the  Apen- 
nines, and  gradually  descend  to  the  hilly  country  about 
Arquata,  and,  passing  Novi  a  little  in  advance  of  day- 
break, before  them  lie  the  great  plains  and  meadows 
that  run  down  to  the  River  Po. 

An  hour  or  two  after  this,  the  sun,  coming  brightly 
into  the  diligence,  awakes  them  all.  Straining  his  eyes 
to  the  front,  as  they  ride  toward  the  north,  there  is  a 
strange  concern  upon  Da  Messina's  face,  for  this  man, 
though  he  is  going  to  home  and  friends,  knows  that 
almost  in  his  hand  he  bears  what  will  bring  devastation 
to  many  a  hearthstone,  and  despair  to  many  a  family, 
by  the  death  of  sons  and  fathers — the  notice  that  soon 
they  will  have  arms  to  strike  their  tyrants  down! 

This  has  kept  him  awake,  and  all  through  the  night, 
as  they  have  approached  the  Lombardian  frontier,  the 
signs  of  military  activity  that  are  evident  have  made 
tears  come  into  his  manly  eyes  as  he  realizes  the  awful 
struggle  that  confronts  his  native  city. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  173 

At  Novi,  they  have  passed  through  a  strong  patrol 
of  cavalry. 

Now,  as  they  ride  into  Tortone,  they  find  the  town 
garrisoned  by  a  full  brigade  of  infantry. 

As  the  diligence  rumbles  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
little  inn,  Carlo,  stepping  out,  hears  words  from  two 
farmers,  who  are  in  for  early  marketing,  that  make  him 
know  the  emeute  is  very  near. 

"  A  good  business  to-day,"  says  one.  "  The  troops 
buy  everything." 

"  Ghieu!  This  is  nothing  like  the  trade  over  at  Ales- 
sandria, where  Amadio  took  four  loads  of  potatoes  Sat- 
urday. He  says  Carlo  Alberto  has  three  full  divisions, 
ready  to  jump  upon  the  Austrians  as  soon  as  Venezia 
and  Milano  rise." 

"  Diavolo !  That  will  come  soon  enough !  "  cries  the 
other.  "  My  friend  Giacomo,  who  has  just  arrived  from 
Ferrara,  tells  me  that  a  Venetian  mob  have  made  the 
Austrians  give  up  Manin  and  Tommaseo,  and  have 
carried  those  patriots  in  triumph  around  the  Piazza,  di 
San  Marco." 

'  Then  the  Virgin  help  us !  "  says  the  other,  in  peas- 
ant timidity.  "  Who  knows  but  that  the  Austrians 
will  beat  Alberto  back,  and  come  upon  me  and  my 
garden?  They  burnt  the  house  over  my  grandfather 
when  they  fought  the  French  at  Marengo,  but  ten 
miles  away."  He  gives  a  gesture  toward  the  west. 

Just  here,  a  young  man  coming  out  of  the  hotel, 
passes  Carlo,  and  says :  "  The  best  wine  is  in  the 
osteria,  two  doors  from  here,  Signore." 

"  Thank  you,  friend :  I  will  take  the  hint,"  replies  il 
cavaliere,  and  marches  off  quickly  in  the  direction  in- 
dicated. 

La  contessa,  who  has  been  watching  him  quite  care- 
fully, sees  no  particular  reason  for  this  move,  even  if 
Pergolese  is  thirsty,  as  the  door  of  the  wine-room  of 
the  inn  is  only  ten  feet  from  his  face.  She  says,  lightly, 
to  Estelle :  "  I  think  a  stroll  will  do  me  good,"  and 
steps  out  of  the  diligence,  from  which  the  hostlers  are 
just  taking  the  horsey 


174  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  cries  Estelle.  "  Besides,  we  have 
breakfast  here,  and  I  am  hungry !  "  And  her  light  feet 
overtaking  Signora  di  Vilermo,  she  links  her  arm  in 
hers  before  that  lady  has  reached  the  entrance  to  the 
courtyard. 

Thus  prevented  from  making  any  decided  attempt 
to  discover  what  their  escort  does  in  the  osteria,  Eu- 
genia, with  Estelle  hanging  on  her  arm,  strolls  along 
the  narrow  unsidewalked  street  toward  the  wine-shop, 
which  seems  a  tumble-down  affair,  frequented  by  a  few 
sots  of  the  town  and  farmers  from  the  neighboring 
communes,  who  have  idle  hours  upon  their  hands. 

Several  of  these  are  lounging  about  the  place,  and  a 
voice  coming  quite  loudly  and  triumphantly  from  the 
interior,  proclaims  that  Rusticus  is  inside. 

"  By  my  patron  saint !  "  brags  a  man,  exultantly.  "  I 
have  made  the  best  deal  in  hay  this  year !  What  do  you 
think,  Signore;  I  have  sold  one  hundred  tons  to  the 
quartermaster  of  the  Fourth  Austrian  Hussars,  to  be 
delivered,  on  the  2Oth,  to  that  official  in  front  of  their 
barracks  in  Milano." 

"  Cospetto! "  jeers  a  gruff  voice.  "  I  wonder  if  these 
Austrians  know  their  horses  will  be  eating  Marengo 
hay!" 

The  jeering  laugh  that  comes  up  at  this  drowns  any 
other  reply,  though  the  contessa,  as  they  pass,  suddenly 
turns  and  looks  at  Estelle,  for  at  the  word  "  hay  "  that 
young  lady  has  given  a  sudden  and  tremulous  clutch 
upon  Eugenia's  arm.  "  I — I  turned  my  ankle,"  she 
stammers.  "  They  leave  so  much  garbage  about  these 
dirty  streets." 

"  Ma  foi,  I  wonder  was  it  the  garbage  or  the  hay  that 
made  mademoiselle  slip !  "  cogitates  her  companion. 

Her  suspicions  would  probably  be  increased  did  she 
know  that  Da  Messina,  as  he  steps  out  of  the  osteria, 
is  thinking,  rapidly :  "  One  hundred  tons  of  hay  will 
require  fifty  wagons.  Though  rwr  Genoa  adviser 
deemed  it  rash,  that  arrangement  had  the  boldness  of 
genius.  Under  the  Austrian  quartermaster's  permits, 


'ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  175 

these  wagons  will  cross  their  frontier  without  customs 
examination." 

Therefore,  with  a  face  made  bright  by  hope,  he  joins 
the  ladies,  and  escorts  them  into  breakfast  at  the  little 
inn,  where  everyone  seems  to  be  in  that  peculiar  nerv- 
ous exaltation  that  coming  war  brings  to  those  within 
reach  of  it,  combatants  and  non-combatants,  men  and 
women.  Even  as  they  eat,  a  couple  of  batteries  of  light 
artillery  rumble  through  the  streets,  going  toward  Ales- 
sandria. 

"  Santo  Gennaro ! "  murmurs  the  landlord,  a  young 
and,  apparently,  sanguine  man,  who  is  officiating  at  the 
breakfast.  "  Those  fine  fellows  will  be  doing  some- 
thing to  the  Austrians  soon." 

"  And  won't  the  white-coats  be  doing  something 
also?"  returns  a  gray-bearded  farmer,  sadly.  "Gran 
Dio !  As  a  boy  I  remember  when  Melas  and  his  Aus- 
trians didn't  leave  a  roof  in  Tortone;  nor  a  loaf  of 
bread,  nor  a  flask  of  wine  neither,  when  that  old  plun- 
derer was  marching  to  beseige  Massena  in  Genoa.  It's 
a  long  while  ago,  but  evil  times  have  come  again." 

"  So  they  will  as  long  as  the  troops  of  any  foreign 
nation  occupy  Italy ! "  cries  Da  Messina,  excitedly. 
Then,  apparently  to  put  a  more  cautious  tongue  into 
his  mouth,  he  strolls  away  for  another  cigar  before  they 
reach  the  frontier. 

Estelle,  rising,  trips  off  by  his  side,  but  la  contessa 
doesn't  offer  to  accompany  them,  as  she  guesses  that 
no  very  active  conspiring  will  take  place  in  his  appren- 
tice's presence. 

"  He  wouldn't  compromise  that  chit ;  I  know  by  the 
way  he  looks  at  her,"  thinks  Eugenia,  and,  going  back 
to  the  diligence,  into  which  the  horses  are  now  being 
put,  takes  her  seat  in  the  coupe. 

After  a  minute  Estelle  comes  running  to  the  diligence, 
and,  springing  into  it,  buries  a  blushing  and  tearful  face 
deep  in  her  hands. 

"  Good  heavens,  child !  You  are  sobbing — what  is 
the  matter  ?  "  whispers  la  contessa- 


1 76  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  He — he  lectured  me  for  being  vain  about  my — my 
ankles.  He  said  I  had  made  this  dress  shorter,  when 
I — I  haven't  altered  it  a  bit." 

"  Don't  you  know,"  replies  la  contessa,  "  that  stitch- 
ing into  your  skirts,  about  your  hips,  a  lot  of  " — she 
puts  her  lips  close  to  Estelle's  blushing  ear,  and  con- 
tinues the  sentence — "  has  shortened  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  that !  But  it  is  so  unjust,  when  it 
was  all  for  his  sake !  " 

"  Peste!  Can't  you  see  his  reproach  means  he  is  jeal- 
ous of  every  little  inch  of  you  ?  " 

"  But  still,  when  I  only  wear  this  hateful,  childish 
frock  because " 

In  her  indignant  grief,  Estelle's  pretty  lips  might  now 
emit  some  almost  fatal  secret,  did  not  at  this  moment 
Da  Messina  call  to  her  in  apparently  apologetic  voice. 

"  I — I  must  go  to  him.  You  see,  he  repents  already. 
Don't  you  dare  say  he  is  unjust  to  me!  "  she  whispers, 
and  springs  from  the  vehicle. 

"  Cospetto !  In  another  moment  the  emotional  crea- 
ture might  have  told  me  something — but  all  in  good 
time !  "  philosophises  the  lady  spy,  and  watches  in  con- 
tented but  eager  philosophy  Da  Messina  and  his  sweet- 
heart wander  off  out  of  sight  into  a  little  copse  of  chest- 
nut trees  that  fronts  the  hotel. 

As  the  driver  of  the  diligence  calls,  "  All  aboard !  " 
they  come  running  out  of  the  grove,  both  apparently 
friends  again,  and  in  much  better  spirits. 

So  much  so  that,  as  they  ride  along,  il  cavaliere  be- 
gins humming  the  hymn  of  Pio  Nono;  but  suddenly 
the  driver  of  the  diligence  stops  his  team,  and,  spring- 
ing from  his  box,  says :  "  Thank  God,  there  is  nobody 
but  your  party  in  the  coach  to  hear  you!  For  the 
love  of  God,  stop  that  song  the  Austrians  have  pro- 
hibited!  We  are  only  half  a  mile  from  their  out- 
posts !  " 

"  Then  I  have  just  time  for  another  last  cigar,"  mut- 
ters Da  Messina,  and,  producing  his  case,  in  which  Es- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  177 

telle  sees  there  now  are  three,  he  lights  up  and  gloomily 
smokes. 

But  approaching  the  frontier,  he  tosses  the  half-con- 
sumed weed  away,  and,  pulling  out  his  cigar-case,  pre- 
sents both  it  and  its  contents  to  the  officer  command- 
ing the  few  Sardinian  troops  that  are  stationed  near 
the  posts,  that,  standing  beside  the  little  inn,  mark  the 
dividing  line  of  Lombardy  and  Piedmont. 

In  the  farther  portion  of  this  posthouse,  through 
which  the  boundary  line  runs,  just  in  the  Austrian  ter- 
ritory, sit  a  couple  of  Imperial  officers  of  cavalry.  They 
are  chatting  with  the  Sardinian  captain,  and  are  only  at- 
tended by  a  few  dismounted  troopers,  the  main  portion 
of  their  command  being  encamped  about  three  hundred 
yards  from  the  frontier. 

The  bulk  of  the  Sardinian  troops  are  likewise  in  their 
tents,  about  the  same  distance  from  their  boundary ;  for 
the  commanders  on  the  immediate  frontier  are  very 
careful  about  permitting  the  personal  contact  of  their 
soldiers,  fearing  that  some  sudden  melee  among  privates 
may  bring  on  premature  hostilities. 

As  the  diligence  changes  horses,  Da  Messina  makes 
his  declaration,  and  puts  his  and  the  ladies'  impedi- 
menta under  the  Austrian  customs  inspector's  eye ;  and, 
his  party  being  the  only  passengers,  the  examination  of 
their  baggage  is  made  quite  rapidly. 

Then  comes  the  matter  of  their  passports,  in  which 
the  official  is  very  strict.  He  scrutinizes,  with  careful 
eyes,  the  two  ladies,  as  they  sit  in  the  coupe,  and  com- 
pares them  with  their  written  descriptions ;  doing  like- 
wise with  Da  Messina. 

Fortunately,  their  escort  has  taken  the  precaution  to 
have  the  passports  visced  by  the  Austrian  consul  in 
Genoa.  This  giving  their  scrutator  confidence,  he  very 
shortly  returns  the  papers  to  their  owners. 

Then,  with  a  long,  deep-drawn  breath,  as  if  making 
up  his  mind  to  a  desperate  act,  from  which  retreat  will 
be  impossible,  Da  Messina  steps  into  the  diligence,  and 
takes  seat  beside  his  ward 


17&  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

The  next  second  the  driver  chirps  to  his  fresh  team, 
and,  with  crack  of  whip,  and  a  short  jolt  over  a  rut  in 
the  road,  they  pass  the  Austrian  frontier.  The  line  of 
Imperial  cavalry  is  now  betwixt  them  and  all  return; 
and  Estelle,  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  puts  frantic  clutch 
upon  the  arm  of  the  man  she  loves,  who  is  now  within 
the  lion's  claws. 

This  emotion  of  Da  Messina's  sweetheart  is  fortu- 
nately unnoticed  by  Madame  la  contessa.  Just  at  this 
moment,  a  cold  shiver  runs  through  her  graceful  limbs. 
She  remembers  she  is  now  under  the  personal  hand  of 
Bolza,  her  passport  bearing  upon  it  no  return  permit. 

With  this,  inspired  by  mortal  fear,  she  looks  at  the 
handsome  fellow  sitting  opposite  to  her,  and  says  to 
herself  these  desperate  words :  "  Now  IT  is  THY  HEAD 
OR  MINE!" 


BOOK  IV. 
THE  NAKED  HANDS  OF  THE  PEOPLEC 


CHAPTER  xv. 

THE   YOUNG   LADY   SMUGGLER. 

Then,  over  dusty  roads,  for  the  season  is  quite  well 
advanced,  and  the  weather  very  warm  for  March,  Da 
Messina  and  the  ladies  drive  down  the  broad  plains  that 
lead  to  the  Po,  and  soon,  apparently  forgetful  of  all 
save  the  lovely  meadows  through  which  they  journey, 
get  to  chatting  easily  again. 

A  little  time  after  this,  just  as  they  enter  Vochera, 
Da  Messina  shouts  with  laughter  at  the  antics  of  an 
Austrian  cavalry  recruit  they  encounter  in  the  road, 
whose  horse  tries  to  unseat  him  and  run  away.  For 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  the  boy  about  this  conspirator, 
and  the  human  mind  is  wonderfully  elastic,  even  under 
the  fear  of  death. 

So  they  rumble  along  quite  merrily,  and,  crossing  the 
Po  at  Stradella,  after  a  little  stretch  of  level  they  rattle 
over  the  old  bridge  that  spans  the  Ticmo,  to  arrive  in 
Pavia,  where,  having  time,  they  stroll  back  to  the  Pozzo, 
near  the  Ticino  bridge,  to  take  a  hurried  dinner,  gazing 
at  some  passing  barges  in  the  river  and  a  little,  puffing 
steamboat,  upon  whose  deck,  to  general  astonishment,  a 
man  is  smoking  a  pipe. 

"Ghieu!"  growls  their  waiter,  under  his  breath, 
for  he  knows  Pergolese  by  sight.  "  That  scoundrel 
is  a  Scotch  engineer,  but  we'll  mob  him  to-night !  " 

This  impresses  the  desperate  feeling  of  the  people  on 
Estelle,  but  ever  since  they  have  been  in  Lombardy  the 


180  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

evidences  of  political  unrest  have  become  more  and  more 
apparent.  She  has  seen  but  few  peasants  working  in 
the  fields,  though  many,  with  frowning  faces,  lounge 
about  each  village  osteria,  and  talk  in  low  and  sullen 
tones. 

Approaching  Pavia,  the  diligence  has  passed  a  num- 
ber of  strong  patrols  of  cavalry,  and  two  guns,  appar- 
ently ready  for  action,  have  confronted  them  as  they 
crossed  the  bridge  over  the  Ticino. 

At  every  place  of  importance  their  passports  have 
been  carefully  re-scrutinized,  and  twice  their  baggage 
has  been  re-examined  by  officious  customs  inspectors, 
though  no  ferret  of  the  lot  seems  to  suspect  the  pretty 
child,  who  has  sat  so  bashfully  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
coupe.  One  noticed  that  she  trembled  as  he  passed  the 
coach ;  but,  in  his  continental,  official  vanity,  imagined 
that  it  was  but  the  shyness  of  early  maidenhood  looking 
at  a  man  of  his  extreme  authority  and  power. 

Likewise,  Da  Messina's  charge  has  noted  that,  in 
great  contradistinction  to  the  puffing  peasants  of  hap- 
pier Piedmont,  no  Lombardian  yokel  has,  between  his 
bucolic  teeth,  pipe  or  cigarette.  Now,  in  the  streets  of 
Pavia,  she  sees  that  no  Italian,  noble  nor  tradesman,  has 
a  cigar  between  his  lips ;  likewise  that  the  numerous 
students  of  the  great  universities  are  pipeless,  though, 
as  if  in  jeer  of  the  misery  patriotism  has  brought  upon 
the  worshipers  of  nicotine  in  this  land,  the  Austrian 
officers  strut  about,  ostentatiously  puffing  smoke  into 
every  Italian  face,  disdaining  the  awful  warning  in 
many  of  the  insulteds'  eyes. 

As  they  finish  dinner,  Da  Messina's  brow  becomes 
clouded.  Twice  since  crossing  the  frontier,  from  force 
of  habit,  he  has  put  his  hand  contemplatively  into  his 
pocket,  to  feel  the  absence  of  his  cigar-case,  and  with- 
draw his  fingers  with  a  start.  Missing  the  smoker's 
climax  to  this  meal,  he  utters  a  subdued  execration. 

Estelle,  whose  eyes  are  ever  on  him,  noticing  his  dis- 
appointment, whispers,  sympathetically  :  -  "  How  will 
you  bear  the  absence  of  your  cigars  to-morrow  ?  " 


ADRTENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  l8l 

"Peste!  I  must  endure  it,"  he  answers,  testily. 
"  My  discomfort  is  no  greater  than  any  other  non- 
smoking Italian  in  this  unfortunate  land ; "  and  is 
rather  astonished,  as  he  rises  to  settle  his  score  with 
mine  host,  and  the  ladies  pass  out  in  advance  of  him, 
to  see  Estelle  nudge  Eugenia  and  laugh  quite  merrily. 

"  It  is  some  little  pleasantry  of  my  sweetheart's,"  he 
thinks,  contentedly,  and  does  not  wonder  at  the  inti- 
macy that  has  grown  up  between  the  contessa  and  his 
protegee;  for  Eugenia's  one  aim  since  they  left  Mar- 
seilles has  been  to  win  the  heart  of  Da  Messina's  ward. 

Though  the  intrigante  would  have  liked  this  hand- 
some tenor's  love  well  enough,  she  has  deftly  seen  he 
has  only  eyes  for  his  charming  ward;  therefore,  with 
extreme  tact,  has  made  no  attempt  in  a  line  that  would 
have  certainly  brought  upon  her  Estelle's  suspicions, 
jealousy,  and  rage.  Besides,  she  feels  sure  that  she 
could  lure  no  secret  vital  to  his  country's  liberty  from 
Pergolese,  even  if  in  his  arms,  and  so  has  turned  most 
of  her  allurements  upon  Estelle,  whose  jealous  love  for 
her  padrone  Eugenia  determines  shall  be  her  weapon. 

But,  while  trying  to  gain  the  good-will  of  the  bound- 
girl,  she  is  by  no  means  averse  to  the  padrone  also 
thinking  well  of  her ;  for  in  this  lady  spy's  mind  is  now 
the  despairing  thought :  "  In  three  hours,  Milano ! 
There,  if  they  bid  me  adieu,  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  rope, 
and  then — Bolza !  " 

So,  throughout  this  journey,  she  has  been  striving  by 
every  feminine  art — and  she  has  many — to  win  her  com- 
panions to  her,  and  succeeded  well  enough;  for,  as 
Pergolese  strolls  behind  the  ladies,  he  looks  complacent- 
ly on  his  ward's  arm  about  Eugenia's  waist,  and  even 
takes  cognizance  of  the  beauty  of  Signora  di  Vilermo, 
who,  as  she  trips  from  the  portico  of  the  inn,  has  an 
aristocratic  bearing,  mingled  with  a  very  youthful  and 
spirituelle  grace. 

"  Cospetto !  My  lady  would  look  well  upon  the 
stage ! "  he  laughs  to  himself,  as  he  overtakes  his 
charges. 


1 82  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALlS. 

They  are  soon  in  the  diligence,  which  is  now  filled 
with  passengers,  for  people  think  themselves  as  safe  in 
one  city  of  Lombardy  as  in  another,  Austrian  troops 
being  everywhere. 

In  proof  of  this,  as  they  leave  Pavia,  by  the  Porta  di 
Milano,  they  see  to  their  right  a  brigade  of  white- 
coated  infantry  engaged  in  field  maneuvers  on  the  Pi- 
azza Castello. 

Having  engaged  the  whole  of  the  coupe,  though  the 
interieur  is  crowded,  Da  Messina  and  his  party  journey 
quite  privately. 

As  they  approach  the  capital  of  Lombardy,  the  signs 
of  an  oppressed  and  discontented  populace  grow  more 
and  more  distinct.  Once,  as  they  pause  at  a  little  vil- 
lage-smithy, one  of  the  horses  having  thrown  a  shoe, 
they  see  three  honest-looking  contadini  manacled  and  in 
charge  of  a  squad  of  Austrian  soldiers. 

Most  of  the  passengers  are  looking  impatiently  at 
the  shoeing,  but  Da  Messina,  getting  the  chance  of  pri- 
vate word  with  a  countryman,  asks  about  this  chain- 
gang. 

"  They  were  arrested  this  morning,  as  they  labored 
in  their  fields,  and  are  now  on  their  way  to  the  galleys 
in  Illyria,  under  that  new  law  proclaimed  last  month 
by  Radetzky — I  can't  master  its  foreign  name,  but  it 
lets  'em  shoot  a  man  in  two  hours,"  whispers  the  rustic. 

"  Yes,  the  Judicium  Statuarium,"  mutters  il  cavaliere. 
Then  he  asks,  shortly :  "  For  what  crime  ?  " 

"How  does  anyone  know?  "  answers  the  man.  Then, 
doffing  his  hat,  he  whispers :  "  Pergolese,  I  say  this  in 
thy  ear :  they  are  like  what  people  say  thou  art — that's 
all !  "  He  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  turns  away  as  Da 
Messina  returns  to  the  diligence. 

As  the  coach  rolls  off,  to  the  ladies'  inquiries  he  tells 
them  part  of  what  he  has  heard,  and  can  only  partially 
conceal  its  effect  upon  himself. 

After  his  outburst,  he  turns  to  Eugenia,  and  says, 
apologetically :  "  You,  I  hope,  will  pardon  the  agita- 
tion of  an  Italian,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  at  the  suffer- 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  183 

ings  of  his  countrymen.  Of  course,  you  being  an  Aus- 
trian, scarcely  appreciate  my  feelings." 

The  answer  that  comes  astounds  him.  Eugenia  whis- 
pers, as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard :  "  My  country  is 
as  oppressed  by  those  white-coated  fellows  as  is  yours." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean — I  am  a  Hungarian." 

"  Ah,  yes !  What  lover  of  liberty  has  not  heard 
of  Kossuth,  the  coming  man !  Some  day,  we  have 

hope "  But  here  Carlo  prudently  clenches  his  teeth 

and  says  no  more,  though  this  lady's  acute  remark  has 
placed  her  much  closer  to  him. 

The  three  manacled  men  have  likewise  a  tremendous 
effect  upon  Estelle.  A  violator  of  the  law  is  generally 
timid.  At  the  next  posthouse,  at  change  of  horses, 
fearing  that  someone  may  smell  tobacco  upon  her, 
though  each  cigar  is  carefully  wrapped  in  tinfoil,  the 
little  smuggler,  upon  the  excuse  that  she  is  too  tired, 
declines  her  padrone's  invitation  for  a  stroll. 

"  But  I  am  not !  "  cries  la  contessa,  cheerfully,  and 
wanders  off  by  the  side  of  the  handsome  tenor  to  make 
her  plea,  for  a  very  curious  idea  is  in  this  lady's  mind, 
though  just  at  present  she  does  not  think  it  wise  to 
more  than  hint  at  it. 

As  she  walks  along  the  dusty  road  with  Pergolese, 
she  suddenly  inquires :  "  What  do  you  intend  to  do 
with  Estelle  when  we  reach  Milano  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  engaged  apartments  for  her  in  the 
big,  comfortable,  old  house  of  Madre  Paolo  Vicenza, 
Via  Oriani,  just  back  of  La  Scala." 

"  But  I  fear  she  will  be  lonely  there — she  knows  no 
one — and  you,  of  course,  will " 

"  Will  live  at  my  old  apartments  in  the  Rebecchino. 
The  restaurant  below  makes  it  convenient  for  me. 
Without  a  companion  for  Estelle,  I  should  hesitate  to 
occupy  the  same  house  with  her,  notwithstanding  'tis  a 
padrone's  custom." 

Here  Eugenia  astonishes  her  escort.  She  asks : 
"  Why  shouldn't  I  be  the  companion,  if  not  the  chape- 


184  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

rone,  of  your  apprentice,   whom   you  treat  as  your 
ward?" 

"  Sapristi!"  replies  Da  Messina,  a  tinge  of  surprise 
upon  his  face.  "  I  had  supposed  you  left  almost  imme- 
diately for  Trieste." 

"  Impossible,"  she  replies,  "  if  remittances  are  not 
awaiting  me  at  Milano.  You  see,  what  little  property 
I  have  is  in  Hungary.  The  coming  outbreak  there  has 
perhaps  ruined  me."  This  is  whispered  almost  under 
her  breath. 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  that,"'  replies  Da  Messina,  a 
look  of  hope  upon  his  face ;  for  a  blow  to  Austria  is  a 
blow  for  Italy.  He  is  also  very  well  aware  that 
some  ladies  are  always  complaining  about  their  finances. 
Therefore  he  adds :  "  Your  own  course  must  be  your 
own  option,  Madame  la  Comtesse.  As  to  your  sugges- 
tion, I  plainly  tell  you  that,  occupied  as  she  will  be  with 
her  lessons  and  her  music,  I  shall  permit  no  lady  to  be 
intimate  with  Estelle,  unless  she  is  so  under  my  control 
and  guidance  that  I  can  direct  their  friendship  entirely." 

At  this  uncompromising  reply,  the  lady  pouts: 
"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  stay  at  some  hotel,"  and 
suddenly  pleads,  anxiously :  "  But  you  will  let  me  visit 
one  of  whom  I  have  grown  to  be  very  fond  ?  " 

Reflecting  upon  the  loneliness  that  must  come  upon 
his  betrothed,  as  he  well  knows  that  mighty  events  will 
soon  keep  him  almost  continuously  from  her  society, 
Carlo  answers  politely,  almost  pressingly :  "  Any  after- 
noon, immediately  after  four  o'clock,  for  an  hour,  I 
shall  be  pleased  to  have  you  call  upon  my  apprentice." 

"  Only  for  an  hour  ?  "  La  contessa's  face  grows  wan. 
An  hour  a  day  is  not  enough  for  her  design. 

"  Yes,  for  Estelle  will  be  occupied  with  her  music 
lessons.  But  our  little  lady  is  beckoning  to  us,"  rejoins 
il  cavaliere,  who  has  been  looking  over  his  shoulder  at 
his  betrothed's  winsome  face. 

As  they  step  into  the  coach,  Estelle  greets  them  with 
a  smile.  She  has  no  jealousy  of  Eugenia;  her  heart 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  185 

has  no  fear  but  for  the  great  prima  donna  of  La  Scala, 
who  once  was  her  affianced's  mistress. 

Of  this,  the  lady  sitting  by  her  side  is  very  well 
aware,  as  she  has,  by  various  diplomatic  allusions,  kept 
Olinska  en  evidence. 

But  Pergolese,  not  guessing  this,  looks  on  Madame 
Intrigante  benignly. 

Then,  as  a  great  city,  with  semi-medieval  walls  and 
bastioned  gates,  looms  up  in  the  distance  before  this 
wanderer  returning  to  the  land  of  his  nativity,  he  says : 
"  //  gran  Milano !  "  and  cries  out  to  both  ladies :  "  Here 
— see!  The  smoke  of  our  woolen  manufactories  and 
silk  mills !  We  shall  be  very  shortly  at  the  gates  of  my 
city.  Behold  our  great  il  Duomo!  You  have  never 
been  in  Milano  before,  Madame  di  Vilermo?  Well,  we 
have  everything  here — but  happiness.  Twelve  crops  of 
hay  a  year  on  our  meadows;  several  editions  of  early 
vegetables;  plenty  of  wine;  an  abundance  of  sheep; 
lots  of  silkworms.  We  have  been  stormed  twenty-seven 
times  and  besieged  forty-six  times,  and  have  always 
been  reigned  over  by  a  tyrant  from  the  time  of  Charle- 
magne !  " 

As  they  cross  the  darsena,  he  mutters :  "  Maledetto ! 
Here  are  some  of  our  rulers !  "  For,  passing  a  canal, 
they  are  at  the  Ticinese  gate,  where  their  passports  are 
again  examined,  and  Da  Messina's  eager  eyes  see  with 
concern  that  the  sentries  have  not  only  been  doubled, 
but  that  the  Porta  is  garrisoned  by  three  strong  com- 
panies of  infantry,  ferocious  Croats,  who,  in  their  undis- 
ciplined love  of  blood,  booty,  and  beauty,  are  still  sol- 
diers of  the  Dark  Ages. 

Then  they  rumble  off  between  high,  old-fashioned 
houses,  through  the  narrow  and  crooked  streets  of  old- 
time  Milan.  For  it  was  not  till  it  became  part  of 
United  Italy  that  the  new,  broad,  straight,  well-paved 
Corsos  and  magnificent  Galleria  Vittorio  Emanuele 
were  opened,  which,  together  with  the  enlarging  and 


186  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

beautifying  of  the  square  of  il  Duomo,  have  made  the 
city  not  only  modern  but  cosmopolitan. 

But,  after  passing  some  rather  squalid  buildings, 
which  at  that  time  almost  abutted  upon  one  side  of 
the  great  cathedral,  they  turn  into  what  is  now  called 
the  Via  Monte  Napoleone,  where  the  diligence  office  fe 
located. 

Here,  as  they  stop,  Estelle  suddenly  claps  her  hands, 
and  cries :  "  Carlo,  there  is  Captain  Radetzky !  " 

And  the  young  Austrian  officer  seizes  and  embraces 
Da  Messina  before  he  can  get  out  of  the  coach. 

" Ach  Gott!  So  glad  to  welcome  you!"  he  cries. 
"  I  am  well  ahead  of  you.  I  have  been  here  four 
days."  Then,  bowing  to  Estelle,  he  adds :  "  Thanks 
for  your  little  note,  Mademoiselle !  "  And,  seeing  Eu- 
genia, he  remarks,  in  laughing  whisper,  to  Da  Mes- 
sina :  "  But  you  have  another  protegee — another  ap- 
prentice ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,  a  lady  to  whom  I  offered  es- 
cort to  my  city.  La  Contessa  di  Vilermo,  permit  me 
to  present  Captain  Franz  Paulus  Radetzky,  of  the  Regi- 
ment Maria  Theresa." 

"  Ah !  "  remarks  Eugenia,  putting  pleasant  eyes  on 
this  frank-faced,  frank-voiced,  young  Austrian.  "  You 
— you  are  some  relative  of  the  Governor  of  Lorn- 
bardy?" 

"  Yes,  his  nephew ! "  answers  the  young  man, 
proudly. 

Then  Pergolese  interjects :  "  Franz,  I  will  ask  you 
a  favor.  Will  you  kindly  escort  Madame  la  Comtesse 
to  her  hotel?  It  is,  I  believe,  the  Grande  Bretagne." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  the  Corso  della  Palla.  I  know  the  place 
very  well,"  replies  the  Austrian.  "  But  your  address, 
my  friend  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  apartments  are  at  the  Hotel  Rebecchino, 
Via  Santa  Margherita.  I  keep  them  there  by  the  year." 

"  And  Mademoiselle's?  "  asks  the  captain. 

"  At  No.  22  Via  Oriani.    Callers  will  be  permitted 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  187 

for  one  hour  after  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  You 
see,  I  am  not  secluding  her  like  a  novice,  Franz;  but 
she  has  a  lot  to  do.  She's  got  a  voice  worthy  of  work." 

"  Yes,  and  I've  got  a  maestro  who'll  make  me  do  it!  " 
prattles  Estelle,  her  eyes  very  bright  as  she  foresees  a 
tete-a-tete  with  her  padrone. 

"  But,"  remarks  Radetzky,  who  has  already  picked 
out  a  carriage  for  la  contessa,  "  you  must  dine  with  me 
this  evening — I  insist,  Carlo." 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  let  me  select  my  own  hour,"  an- 
swers il  cavaliere,  heartily. 

"  Of  course !  " 

"  Then  I  name  seven  o'clock,  and  ask  you  where  ?  " 

"  The  restaurant  at  your  hotel,  the  Rebecchino ; 
you  won't  have  far  to  go  to-night,  and  I  can  see  the 
journey  has  tired  you,  and,  of  course,  fatigued  the 
ladies,"  replies  Radetzky,  as  la  contessa  makes  her 
adieux,  and  he  assists  her  into  a  carriage.  Then  the 
young  Austrian  officer's  face  grows  haughty,  and,  gaz- 
ing about  him,  he  sneers :  "  These  canaille  seem  to 
frighten  our  little  friend." 

For  Estelle  is  gazing  in  amazed  horror  at  the  crowd 
of  loungers  standing  about  the  diligence  office.  These, 
as  her  padrone  has  stepped  out  of  the  stage,  have  taken 
off  their  hats  to  him,  bowed  before  him,  and  murmured, 
"  Pergolese  illustrissimo ! "  as  if  he  were  a  god.  But 
now,  noticing  his  intimacy  with  the  Austrian  officer, 
they  have  clapped  their  hats  upon  their  heads,  and  are 
snarling,  almost  threateningly:  "Traditore!" 

Even  as  il  cavaliere  places  his  ward  in  the  carriage, 
and  takes  seat  beside  her,  one  fellow  almost  puts  his 
head  into  the  vehicle,  and,  nodding  it  back  and  forth, 
hisses:  "  Abasso  tenor e  di  Austria!  Maladetto  Pergo- 
lese!" 

At  these  insults  from  the  lips  of  those  he  loves,  Da 
Messina  turns  pale,  and  Estelle,  nestling  to  him  as  they 
drive  away,  sees  on  his  face  the  agony  of  an  overpow- 
ering shame. 


1 88  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE   ARMS  IN    THE    HAY. 

But,  a  moment  after,  the  patriot  says,  determinedly : 
"  Why  should  I  care  if  I  do  my  duty  ?  Those  gentle- 
men will  some  day  see  whether  Pergolese  is  traditore  or 
not !  " 

Then  tossing  the  curls  back  from -his  forehead,  and 
apparently  throwing  this  matter  from  his  mind,  Carlo 
hastily  tells  his  sweetheart  his  plans  for  her.  "  Origi- 
nally it  had  been  my  intention  to  place  you  at  the  school 
of  my  aunt,  Signora  Giuseppina  Bianchi,  but  now  I 
hesitate  to  subject  you  to  the  severe  discipline  and  hard 
work  which  there  would  certainly  come  to  you.  Be- 
sides, surrounded  by  a  lot  of  girls,  some  apprentices, 
some  pupils  for  pay,  but  all  careless  gossips,  my  visits 
to  you,  except  when  I  gave  you  singing  lessons,  would 
bring  embarrassment  and  comment  upon  you.  There- 
fore, by  letter,  I  have  engaged  some  rooms  for  you  with 
old  Madre  Paola  Vicenza,  an  e.r-maitresse  de  ballet  of 
La  Scala.  She  has  a  big,  comfortable,  old  house,  just 
back  of  the  theater.  Age  has  made  Paola  a  hag,  but  she 
was  once  celebrated,  and  has  probably  a  few  dancing- 
girls  under  her  wing." 

"  You — you  don't  mean  to  put  me  with  the  balle- 
rinif  "  asks  Estelle,  anxiously. 

"  Certainly  not.  You  will  be  altogether  by  yourself. 
Old  Madre  Paola  will  do  anything  for  Pergolese.  You 
will  be  treated  in  private  as  a  princess." 

"  Ah,  but  I  am  not  treated  as  a  sweetheart,"  mur- 
murs the  girl,  archly ;  then,  after  a  little,  fluttering 
struggle,  cries:  ''Stop,  Carlo  mio!  The — the  people 
in  the  streets  will  see  us !  " 

For  their  carriage  is  passing  through  the  great  Pi- 
azza il  Duomo,  which  is  now  crowded  by  an  afternoon 
Milanese  throng ;  ladies  going  into  the  grand  cathedral 
to  make  confession  ;  shovel-hatted  priests,  and  venders, 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  189 

ftnd  hucksters  of  all  kinds — that  curious  mixture  of  an 
Italian  city  in  the  .days  when  the  young  nobles  wore 
picturesque  velvet  coats;  when  the  bandit,  who  had 
robbed  Englis  mi  Lor"  in  the  mountains,  jostled  with 
him  in  the  public  squares  of  Naples  or  Firenze — in 
short,  the  days  of  Fra  Diavolo  and  Zerlina,  of  Carbonari 
and  secret  societies,  whose  weapon  was  the  stiletto; 
those  times  so  pleasant  to  read  of,  exciting  on  the 
stage,  but  perchance  not  so  pleasant  to  live  in ;  those 
days  before  the  coming  railroads  brought  modern  life 
to  a  new  Italia. 

Still,  the  place  is  very  bright  and  animated  with  that 
peculiar  vivacity  that  makes  Italian  cities,  even  in  their 
lowest  quarters,  seem  theatrical  and  picturesque. 

"  Though  no  one  smokes,  they  all  look  happy,"  whis- 
pers the  girl;  then  adds,  with  feminine,  quick  judg- 
ment: "  Pish!  There's  no  rebellion  in  this  town,  inio 
Pergolese !  " 

At  this  announcement,  Da  Messina  gazes  at  her  as- 
tounded; then  replies,  excitedly,  but  very  cautiously: 
"  No  rebellion — when  but  six  months  since  seven  stu- 
dents were  killed  and  thirty  wounded  in  Pavia  by  those 
white-coated  wretches!  No  rebellion — when  scarce 
sixty  days  have  passed  since  eight  Milanese  were  killed 
and  fifty  mutilated  for  pulling  the  cigar  out  of  an  in- 
solent soldier's  teeth!  No  rebellion — when  within  the 
month  four  hundred  of  us  were,  without  trial,  sent  to 
slave  in  the  galleys  or  toil  in  the  fleet  of  our  tyrants ! 
Corpo  di  Diavolo!  Look  at  those  two  companies  of 
infantry  guarding  his  palace,  and  see  if  Radetzky  thinks 
there  is  no  rebellion  in  Milano !  " 

He  points  to  the  Palazzo  di  Corte,  where,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  his  Emperor,  the  grim,  old  Austrian  Governor 
sits  like  a  watchdog  looking  over  Lombardy. 

But  now  they  rush  into  a  rather  dark  and  narrow 
street,  and  soon  after  pass  the  fagade  of  La  Scala, 
where  Estelle,  looking  at  the  announcements,  gives  a 
little,  frightened  shudder,  for  she  sees  posted  up, 
"  QLINSKA — NORMA — WEDNESDAY!"  and  feels  she  is 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

face  to  face  with  her  hated  rival.  But,  scarce  a  second 
after,  she  cries :  "  Oh,  your  name,  Pergolese — for  Sun- 
day evening  in  '  Lucia  ' !  You  sing  '  Edgardo  ' !  "  and, 
putting  pleading  eyes  upon  him,  falters :  "  I — I  shall 
hear  you?  " 

"  Cospetto,  you  shall,  little  one !  If  I  can  not  ar- 
range with  some  fine  lady  to  take  you  in  her  box,  you 
shall  come  with  me,  and  stand  within  the  wings.  You 
see,  I  had  given  my  word  to  Zirconi,  the  manager, 
when  I  left,  that  I  would  sing  for  him  immediately 
upon  my  return,  and  he  has  already  remembered  it. 
But  here  we  are  at  what  I  hope  will  be  a  pleasant  rest- 
ing place  for  you,  anima  mia."  For  their  carriage  has 
driven  from  the  Via  San  Giuseppe  into  the  Via  Oriani. 

From  here  they  would  turn  into  the  courtyard  of  a 
building  that  had  once  been  some  old  palace,  did  not  a 
red-shirted  doorkeeper  cry:  " Arrestare!" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  remarks  Pergolese.  "  I  presume  ma- 
dames  does  not  want  her  ballet-girls  gadding  about  the 
streets,  and  keeps  this  fellow  as  a  kind  of  Cerberus." 

After  a  moment's  explanation,  they  drive  past  the 
man,  to  find  themselves  in  a  flagged  courtyard,  from 
which  entrance  is  made  to  the  upper  floors  of  the 
building.  Being  met  at  the  massive,  old-time  door, 
with  its  strong  bolts  and  gigantic  lock,  they  are  escorted 
by  a  stalwart,  Italian  serving-girl,  whom  Pergolese 
calls  Josepha.  This  abigail  seems  to  know  the  tenor 
very  well,  for  she  walks,  smilingly,  in  front  of  them, 
chattering :  "  So  this  is  thy  pretty,  little  canary  bird ! 
We  have  a  pleasant  cage  for  her !  Numo,  of  the  Ma- 
rionettes, his  family,  and  also  Madame  Cavello  left  for 
Naples,  fearing  coming  trouble — so  we  are  empty,"  and 
on  the  second  floor  shows  them  into  a  spacious  parlor, 
from  which  opens  a  roomy,  yet  dainty,  chamber,  both 
very  pleasantly  lighted,  as  they  front  upon  the  street. 

Here  Estelle  claps  her  hands  and  looks  with  grateful 
eyes  upon  her  padrone,  for  she  sees  preparations  have 
been  made  for  her.  A  grand  piano,  already  opened ; 
a  pile  of  sheet  music,  some  opera  scores,  and  quite  a 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  iQl 

library,  including  even  the  novels  of  the  day;  a  por- 
celain stove,  in  which  the  fire  is  burning  briskly;  a 
lot  of  rugs  thrown  over  the  floor ;  some  pretty  bronzes, 
and  two  or  three  pictures,  that  are  little  masterpieces  of 
Italian  art.  "  I  had  these  sent  over  from  my  own 
apartments,"  remarks  her  betrothed,  in  answer  to  her 
glance. 

But  she  has  caught  sight  of  a  vase,  bearing  a  great 
bunch  of  early  roses,  and  is  crying :  "  For  me,  Carlo 
mio — for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  everything  for  thee !  "  he  whispers. 

At  this  strange  intimacy  between  bound-girl  and  pa- 
drone, Josepha  opens  her  eyes;  but,  being  wise  after 
the  manner  of  her  class,  courtesies,  and  says :  "  I  will 
call  Mother  Vicenza." 

As  the  door  closes,  Estelle  flies  into  her  lover's  arms, 
and  murmurs :  "  Oh,  thank  you !  Thank  you !  But 
still,  thou  art  cruel." 

"And  why?" 

"  As  yet  not  one  kiss  in  my  new  home." 

"  Cospetto,  but  I  am  a  villain !  "  he  laughs,  and  there- 
after his  betrothed  has  no  cause  for  complaint. 

A  moment  after,  he  seats  her  tenderly  upon  a  sofa, 
and  takes  a  step  or  two  about  the  room,  as  if  in  medita- 
tion, once  abstractedly  putting  his  hand  to  where  his 
cigar-case  should  be,  and  withdrawing-  it  with  so  un- 
happy a  face  that  his  sweetheart  gives  a  sudden  chuckle. 

But,  pausing  in  his  step,  he  speaks  to  her  very  gently, 
but  quite  commandingly :  "  Now  I  shall  have  lots  to 
keep  you  busy.  This  is  what  I  have  planned  for  thee : 
Baptiste  shall  give  you  instruction  with  the  foils ;  Ron- 
cono  shall  teach  you  the  piano  and  harmony;  Old 
Mother  Paola  shall  show  you  enough  dancing  to  give 
you  grace  and  dramatic  gesticulation ;  Madame  Pacini 
will  run  over  for  an  hour  each  day  to  make  you  an 
actress." 

"  And  you — what  will  you  do  for  me,  mio  padrone?, " 
returns  Estelle. 


IQ2  ADRIENXE   DE   PORTALTS. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  teach  thy  pretty  voice  il  bell  canto.  At 
least  an  hour  a  day  I  shall  hear  thy  exercises." 

"  Only  an  hour  a  day?    Madre  mia! "  cries  the  girl. 

"  But  I  shall  come  to  you  whenever  it  is  possible, 
though  I  have  lots  to  do — arrangements  with  the  im- 
presario and  rehearsal.  God  knows  what  may  come 
upon  Pergolese !  "  he  exclaims,  for  he  dare  not  tell  her 
that  it  is  very  different  matters  that  will  take  him  from 
her  side.  "  And  now,"  he  says,  "  I  must  bid  you 
adieu." 

"  So  soon  ?  "  she  falters,  and  the  plaint  that  he  has 
feared  comes  to  him  from  her  imploring  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  have  something  important  enough  to  even 
take  me  from  your  side ;  but  this  evening  I  will  come  to 
you  at  half-past  six.  Besides,  your  eyes  tell  me  that 
you  are  tired  from  your  journey." 

He  rings  a  bell,  and  to  his  call  comes  in  the  lady  of 
the  house — a  great,  tall,  gaunt,  Neapolitan  woman,  with 
eyes  as  black  as  coals,  and  hair  that  has  grown  into  an 
iron-gray  which  suits  her  iron  frame ;  for  Paola,  even 
in  her  middle  age,  is  lithe  as  a  cat,  and  powerful  as  a 
panther. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  tardiness,  maestro,"  she  says, 
returning  a  courtesy  for  his  bow.  "  One  of  my  ballet- 
girls  just  fell  at  her  exercise,  and  sprained  her  knee. 
Welcome  from  Paris,  where,  I  am  told,  they  have  run 
their  king  away.  We  may  do  a  little  of  that  kind  of 
business  ourselves  some  day.  Your  letter  got  to  me, 
and  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,  though  you  apparently  de- 
manded apartments  for  a  princess."  She  gives  a  grin 
as  Estelle  is  introduced  to  her. 

"  You  will  take  care  of  this  song-bird  of  mine !  Just 
teach  her  enough  of  thy  art,  dear  Mother  Paola,  to  give 
Mademoiselle  the  graces  of  the  stage,"  remarks  Per- 
golese. 

"  Ah,  yes !  It  is  a  song-bird  always  now,"  says  the 
dancer,  bitterly.  "  But,  ten  years  ago,  when  Taglioni 
got  greater  hire  than  any  singer  of  you  all,  it  was  not 
all  song-birds ;  it  was  sylphs,  and  nymphs,  and  dancing 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  IQ3 

fairies.  But  you  have  turned  your  back  upon  ballet,  as 
well  as  the  rest  of  the  world,  Pergolese.  Still,  for  you — 
Italia's  friend — I  am  your  humble  servant,  and  the 
young  lady's,  though  it  is  a  curious  thing  to  make  a 
princess  of  a  bound-girl." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  but  wait  till  you  hear  her  sing !  " 

"  Gran  Dio!  I  can  see  she  has  sung  herself  into  your 
heart !  "  laughs  the  woman ;  at  which  Estelle  blushes 
beautifully.  But  suddenly  her  eyes  grow  troubled,  for 
La  Vicenza  snorts,  in  affable  comment:  " Diavolo! 
What  will  la  diva  over  there  " — she  nods  toward  La 
Scala — "  say  to  a  child  rival !  "  and  laughingly  goes  off, 
leaving  Pergolese  biting  his  lip,  and  his  affianced  with 
a  tear  in  her  bright  eyes. 

Noticing  this,  Da  Messina  steps  straight  to  Estelle, 
and  says,  almost  sternly,  yet  oh,  how  tenderly :  "  My 
own !  I  have  torn  this  lady's  picture  out  of  my  watch ; 
believe  me,  dear  one,  she  was  never  really  in  my  heart. 
Pay  no  heed  to  the  gossips  of  this  place.  Sapristi!  The 
chorus  of  La  Scala  would  give  Pergolese  a  new  amour- 
ette every  day." 

"  I  won't,  mio  Carlo,"  she  says,  in  simple  determina- 
tion. "  Your  every  action  since  I  gave  my  lips  to  you 
has  proved  to  me  that  you  loved  me.  Take  them  again, 
to  know  that  I  have  faith  in  you !  "  Her  soft  arms 
close  round  his  neck;  her  sweet  lips  tell  him  that  she 
believes. 

So,  after  a  moment,  he  tears  himself  from  her ;  and 
his  bound-girl,  running  to  the  window  to  catch  view 
of  her  padrone  as  he  walks  along  the  street,  devours 
his  figure  till  he  turns  a  corner. 

Then  she,  loneliness  coming  to  her,  sighs  :  "  He — he 
never  looked  back  to  see  if  I  was  gazing  after  him !  " 

But  here  her  young  eyes  catch,  through  a  narrow 
opening  in  the  houses,  one  tower  of  that  great  building, 
erected  by  Visconti,  and  now  used  as  a  barracks  by 
the  Austrians,  called  the  Castello.  Above  it  floats  the 
double-eagled  banner  of  the  Empire.  Beyond  is  the 
great,  green  field  of  the  Piazza  d'Armi.  Upon  this  are 


194  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

three  brigades  of  white-coated  soldiers — Croats — exe- 
cuting their  maneuvers;  but  these  do  not  interest  her 
very  much,  though,  perchance,  they  might  frighten  her 
did  she  know  they  are  drilling  with  ball-cartridges. 

Then  the  sight  of  Austrian  power  reminds  her ;  she 
laughs :  "  I  forgot  I  was  a  smuggler !  "  and  runs  to 
her  dainty  bedroom,  where,  seeing  another  vase  of  fresh 
cut  flowers,  she  goes  to  them  and  kisses  them.  A  mo- 
ment after,  locking  the  door,  she  pulls  off  a  heavy  un- 
derskirt, works  diligently  at  it,  and  cries :  "  Ninety- 
five  are  all  right  for  Pergolese-!  "  and  pouts :  "  Five 
have  been  ruined  by  my  sitting  on  them !  "  These  she 
tosses  into  the  fire,  but  puts  away  very  carefully  in  her 
trunk,  which  she  finds  is  already  in  her  room,  the  ninety- 
five  consolers  for  her  patriot. 

Then  she  rings  a  bell,  and  Josepha,  bustling  in,  says : 
"  Would  you  like  some  dinner,  Mademoiselle  ?  He 
ordered  it  for  you  before  he  went  away." 

"  No,  nothing  now ;  I  am  too  tired.  But  don't  fail 
to  call  me  at  half-past  six,  for  then  he  will  be  here 
again !  "  So,  hastily  disrobing,  this  bound-girl  slips 
her  exquisite  body  between  the  white  sheets  of  a  dainty 
bed,  puts  her  fair  head  upon  soft  pillows,  edged  with 
lace,  as  if  for  a  princess's  slumbers,  and  goes  to  sleep,  to 
dream  of  Pergolese. 

Perchance  her  dreams  would  not  be  so  pleasant  did 
she  know  the  business  her  lover  is  engaged  in.  For, 
after  making  the  many  maneuvers  of  a  man  who  fears  a 
spy  is  always  at  his  elbow — at  one  time  passing  through 
buildings  that  lead  from  one  street  to  another,  and 
waiting  to  see  if  anyone  is  following  him;  and  at 
others  suddenly  retracing  his  steps  quickly  to  catch 
a  careless  pursuer — Carlo  finds  himself  in  the  dark 
entrance  of  an  ancient  house  in  the  very  densest  part 
of  old  Milan. 

The  door  of  this  is  not  opened  till  he  has  given  three 
very  peculiar  salutes.  Entering,  he  encounters,  in  the 
long  passageways  of  the  old  Palazzo,  a  dozen  loungers, 
every  one  of  whom  gives  him  the  grip  of  Young  Italy. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  IQ5 

Did  he  not  return  it,  a  dozen  knives  would  be  in  him  in 
a  second.  But,  recognizing  him,  his  inquisitors  take 
off  their  hats  quite  reverently. 

So  he  passes  on,  and,  being  cautiously  admitted  to  a 
dingy  room,  three  men  spring  up  to  meet  him  with  a  cry 
of  joy!  Two  of  them,  apparently  by  their  dress,  are 
of  the  nobility;  the  other,  a  dogged,  white-haired, 
snarling  creature  of  almost  seventy  years,  wears  a  semi- 
military  costume,  and,  by  his  bearing,  accent,  and  de- 
meanor, indicates  that  he  was  an  old  officer  of  the 
Republic,  when  France,  under  Bonaparte,  dominated 
Europe. 

Immediately  Carlo  enters,  the  door  is  quickly  closed 
and  locked,  and  heavy  curtains  are  drawn  over  it.  Then 
they  seize  Pergolese,  and  tender  him  the  cautious  greet- 
ing that  men  under  fear  of  death  give  to  one  another. 

"  Now,"  hastily  says  il  Conte  Gabrio  Casati,  the  Po- 
desta  of  Milan :  "  Da  Messina,  never  mind  details ;  give 
us  the  vital  point  of  your  journey !  " 

"  The  arms  will  be  here  by  the  2Oth !  " 

At  this  the  two  Italians  give  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  the 
younger,  the  gallant  Luciano  Manara,  cries :  "  Thank 
God!" 

"  How  many  ? "  asks  the  old  republican  officer, 
sharply. 

"  Twelve  thousand — two  hundred  rounds  of  ammu- 
nition to  each  musket." 

"  How  in  the  name  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason  will 
you  get  them  here  ?  "  snarls  the  Frenchman. 

"  Concealed  in  hay-wagons,  driven  from  the  meadows 
of  Tortone,  passing  the  frontier  without  customs  ex- 
amination, because  each  one  will  be  protected  by  the 
placard  of  the  Austrian  quartermaster  of  the  Fourth 
Hussars.  Each  wagon,  on  passing  our  frontier,  will 
be  guarded  by  Austrian  troops ;  but  each  wagon  will 
be  driven  by  one  who  can  be  trusted.  Foscari,  a  farm- 
er of  that  district,  and  a  true  lover  of  liberty,  made 
the  contract  under  my  directions.  I  had  arranged  the 
matter  with  him,  likewise  with  our  agents  in  Genoa,  on 


196  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

my  way  to  France.  These  wagons  will  be  driven  so  as 
to  arrive  at  nightfall  in  this  city  on  the  2Oth.  They  will 
enter  by  the  Porta  Tosa.  They  will  be  drawn  up,  only 
when  it  is  too  late  to  unload  them,  before  the  barracks 
of  the  Fourth  Hussar  Regiment.  Then,  during  the 
night,  we  will  take  quiet  charge  of  them." 

"  But,  heavens  and  earth!  "  cries  Manara.  "  If  the 
horses  of  the  Austrian  escort  want  hay  on  the  journey?  " 

"  That  is  arranged  for.  We  have  one  wagon  that 
carries  no  arms.  The  drivers  are  instructed  to  so  ar- 
range that  the  Austrians  will  take  hay  from  no  other 
wagon.  In  addition,  only  the  very-center  of  each  load 
contains  arms.  Each  package  of  muskets  or  ammu- 
nition is  bound  up  in  hay.  Besides,  this  country  hay 
— innocent  hay — is  piled  in  bales  all  around  them.  The 
troopers  of  the  escort  will  have  to  make  a  much  closer 
investigation  than  pulling  a  few  bunches  of  fodder  out 
of  any  wagon  to  discover  what  they  are  convoying  to 
Milan.  I  think  I  have  worked  out  the  matter  quite 
thoroughly,"  remarks  Da  Messina. 

"  Diavolo,  with  the  astuteness  of  genius ! "  cries 
Luciano. 

"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu!  You  fixed  the  trick  with  that 
boldness  that  makes  security!  Diable!  In  old  times, 
our  Little  Corporal  would  have  clapped  you  on  the 
back !  "  growls  the  old  republican. 

"  Thank  you,  Colonel  Labat,"  smiles  Carlo.  "  A 
word  of  praise  from  your  experienced  lips  was  more 
than  I  ever  expected  to  gain." 

" Sacre  bleu!"  chuckles  the  old  rcvolutionaire.  "  I 
had  never  expected  to  say  so  much  for  you,  my  high- 
screeching  patriot.  But  to  work !  " 

On  this — with  the  care  of  men  who  are  arranging  a 
movement  upon  which  not  only  their  lives  depend,  but 
perhaps  even  the  honor  of  their  wives  and  daughters, 
for  God  knows  what  will  happen  if  they  suffer  defeat — 
these  patriots  make  plans  for  throwing  off  the  Aus- 
trian yoke  on  the  night  of  the  2Oth  of  March.  In  this 
they  are  deftly  aided  by  the  snarling  counsels  of  the  old 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

republican  soldier,  who,  having  fought  behind  many 
barricades  and  in  numerous  street  melees  in  the  days  of 
the  Revolution,  knows  this  business  to  perfection. 

"  We  must  strike  before  morning  on  the  2ist!  "  re- 
marks Casati.  "  Otherwise  the  Austrians  will  guess 
what  we  are  doing." 

With  this,  they  arrange  that  ten  wagons  are  to  be 
hurried  to  the  students'  quarter,  five  to  the  woolen 
mills,  and  ten  to  the  silk  manufacturers'  district ;  and, 
the  others  properly  distributed,  a  sufficient  detail  of 
men  to  go  with  each  of  them,  and  that  each  section, 
headed  by  its  leader,  shall  act  according  to  a  plan  to 
be  formulated  in  the  coming  two  weeks,  this  Monday 
being  the  6th  of  March. 

For  these  leaders  of  the  Milanese  had  not  the  crazy 
thought,  of  which  they  have  been  accused,  of  sending 
up  their  townsmen  with  naked  hands  against  the  Aus- 
trian bayonets.  That  came  afterward — an  inspiration 
born  of  their  despair ! 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  THREE  TEMPTATIONS. 

Just  out  of  the  Via  Santa  Margherita,  where  no\V 
the  magnificent  Galleria  Vittorio  Emanuele  is  located, 
in  1848,  stands  a  pile  of  medieval  buildings,  entered 
by  a  narrow  alley,  which  terminates  in  a  courtyard. 
Gloomy  in  themselves,  the  Milanese  pass  by  them  as 
if  they  dreaded  them,  for  they  are  the  Dirczioni  Gen- 
erale  di  Polcsia,  the  headquarters  of  Austrian  police 
espionage  of  the  city  of  Milan  and  Lombardy. 

Though  well  guarded  by  a  detail  of  sentries,  a  com- 
pany of  infantry  being  stationed  in  the  building,  they 
are,  at  a  little  after  nine  o'clock  this  evening,  very  still. 
Everything  about  them  seems  to  move  with  that  quiet, 


198  'ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALlS. 

official  bureaucracy,  indicative  of  a  power  so  great  it 
needs  no  outward  show. 

Into  their  courtyard,  draped  as  closely  as  an  oda- 
lisque, with  thick,  Spanish  veil  drawn  over  her  shapely 
head,  la  Contessa  di  Vilermo  glides.  She  gives  a  whis- 
pered word  to  the  sentry,  and  he  permits  her  to  pass 
him,  to  encounter  a  police  sergeant.  A  moment  after, 
she  is  conducted  to  a  well-remembered  door  in  the 
facade  of  the  courtyard,  and  her  hand  trembles  as  she 
lifts  the  old-fashioned  knocker.  To  her  rapping,  this 
portal  is  very  quickly  opened. 

As  she  enters,  a  confidential  official,  out  of  uniform, 
says,  suavely :  "  Madame  la  Comtesse  is  expected,"  and 
shows  her  up  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  private  office  of  il 
Conte  Bolza,  the  most  hated,  yet  the  most  feared,  man 
in  Lombardy.  His  master,  the  old  Austrian  general  of 
iron  nerve,  Radetzky,  will  crush  the  enemies  of  his 
Emperor  openly  like  a  warrior;  this  underling  will 
strike  in  the  dark  like  a  bravo. 

But  men  often  belie  their  appearance.  Dressed  ac- 
curately in  official  evening  costume,  with  knee  breeches, 
silk  stockings,  court  swallow-tail  coat,  and  patent  leath- 
er, red-heeled  shoes,  surmounted  by  gleaming,  golden 
buckles,  Bolza  looks  more  of  the  olden  than  of  the 
modern  time;  and  his  police  administration  is  the 
same. 

His  forehead  is  quite  broad,  his  cheeks  rather  white, 
his  lips  very  thin  but  highly  colored,  and  his  manner 
diplomatic.  He  would  be  thought  a  quiet  gentleman 
of  the  ancient  regime  did  not  serpent's  eyes,  black  and 
beady  in  repose,  but,  when  excited,  gleaming  red,  like 
glowing  charcoal,  make  him  appear  as  deadly  as  that 
dread  snake  of  Martinique,  whose  unclosing  orbs  glow 
night  and  day  with  the  red  light  of  danger. 

He  rises  on  Eugenia's  entrance,  and  bows  courteous- 
ly, saying,  in  soft,  cold  tones :  "  So  pleased  to  see  you ! 
You  were  expected.  I  have  some  communications 
about  you,  not  only  from  Benuchio,  in  France,  but  from 
Donetto,  in  Genoa.  Please  take  off  your  wraps,  Con- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  199 

tessa — I  like  to  study  my  subjects — then  tell  to  me 
your  story." 

He  sits  down  at  his  desk,  and,  a  moment  after,  la 
contessa,  standing  before  him,  relates  everything  she 
knows  or  guesses  about  Da  Messina,  and,  as  she  closes, 
finds  Bolza  is  not  pleased  with  her  tale. 

"  Peste!"  he  says,  testily.  "  What  you  relate  to  me 
is  nothing — only  a  few  suspicions,  surmises,  guesses ! 
Besides,  this  Pergolese,  I  have  been  told  by  Captain 
Radetzky,  of  the  General  Staff,  is  a  very  fine  fellow — 
a  friend,  perchance,  of  Austria.  He  saved,  at  his  own 
great  risk,  the  life  of  an  Austrian  officer  in  the  Saone. 
He  has  not  that  implacability  to  those  wearing  our  uni- 
forms that  the  so-called  patriots  of  this  country  have. 
Diavolo!  he  is  even  now  dining  with  Franz  Radetzky, 
over  there  at  the  Rebecchino!  In  addition,  the  two 
young  men  embraced  each  other  at  the  general  dili- 
gence office  this  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  but — Your  Excellency,"  urges  Eugenia,  "  I 
know  there  is  something  wrong  about  Pergolese " 

"  Because  at  sea  his  trembling  apprentice  whispered 
she  was  afraid  of  an  Austrian  court-martial?  Ach 
Gott,  some  other  ladies  are  afraid  of  Austrian  au- 
thority !  " 

He  gives  a  grin,  which  makes  la  contessa  tremble, 
and  continues,  sneeringly :  "  What  you  tell  me  of  the 
opera  house  at  Genoa  was,  of  course,  reported  by  Do- 
netto.  But  it  is  nothing;  an  Italian  mob  are  always 
ready  to  cry  '  Viva  Garibaldi !  '  and  '  Evviva  I' Italia ! ' 
Then,  at  Tortone,  this  Pergolese  went  into  an  osteria  to 
get  a  glass  of  wine !  At  how  many  other  places  on  the 
route  did  the  tenor  grow  thirsty  ?  " 

"  About  four  or  five  other  places,"  admits  Signora  di 
Vilermo.  "  But  this  was  before  we  reached  the  fron- 
tier. Besides,  his  apprentice " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  his  apprentice  slipped  on  some  cabbage 
leaves  in  the  street,  while  some  farmers  were  talking 
of  hay!  That  is  so  unusual  for  farmers — to  talk  of 


200  AD&IENNE  t)E   PORTALIS. 

hay.  Gott  in  Himmel!  They  generally  talk  of  nothing 
else !  Ah,  Madame,  you  fatigue  me  so !  " 

Then  the  snake's  eyes  begin  to  flame ;  his  voice  be- 
comes squeaky,  like  an  overstrained  violin  string;  he 
twangs  at  the  almost  fainting  culprit :  "  Two  years  ago, 
when  your  husband  was  sent  in  perpetuity  to  the 
galleys,  you,  in  my  presence  in  Trieste,  confessed  thy- 
self guilty  of  false  bills  of  exchange.  I  have  given  you 
two  chances  to  atone  for  thy  crimes,  and  how  have  you 
done  it?  In  Turin,  on  some  silly  matter  of  private 
virtue,  you  refused  to  give  your  arms  to  that  Sardinian 
marquis,  and  we  missed  information  of  great  value.  In 
this,  your  second  case,  you  have  done  nothing — noth- 
ing !  "  He  sounds  a  bell. 

"  Oh,  God  of  Heaven !  "  she  bursts  out.  "  Your  Ex- 
cellency, I  implore  you,  don't " 

"  Oh,  yes !  But  I  must — my  matron,  Bettina,  is 
waiting  for  you.  There  is  a  little,  white  cell  ready  for 
you  in  the  rear  of  the  building." 

"  Give  me  time !  "  gasps  the  woman,  in  a  conglom- 
erate sob  and  scream.  "  Just  give  me  time !  I  feel  sure 
that  the  arms  are  coming  by  the  frontier !  Oh,  give  me 
time  to  betray  this  conspirator  into  your  hands !  No 
scruples  shall  come  between  me  and  my  duty  to  you. 
If  he  asks  my  love,  he  shall  have  it." 

The  little  door  behind  her  autocrat's  back  is  open- 
ing— the  one  to  the  right.  A  dark-frocked,  red-eyed 
woman,  of  herculean  figure  and  forbidding  mien,  is 
entering. 

"  Oh,  madre  di  Dio !  Give  me  time,  and  I  will  go 
into  the  fire  to  discover !  "  shrieks  Eugenia,  sinking  on 
her  knees. 

"  Then,  ten  days !  "  he  says,  shortly,  and,  waving  his 
hand,  the  woman  silently  disappears. 

Raising  la  contessa  politely,  Bolza  remarks  :  "  If  not 
before,  in  ten  days  I  shall  expect  Madame.  In  case  you 
have  to  write  your  information,  address  me,  as  usual,  to 
the  hand  of  Enrico  Donetto.  And,  mark  me,  under  no 
circumstances  permit  Da  Messina  to  guess  he  is  sus- 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  2OI 

pected,  or  know  that  you  are  my  agent ; "  adding, 
with  a  smile  that  makes  her  tremble :  "  Empfehle  mich 
Ihnen ! "  and,  with  this  suave,  Austrian,  diplomatic 
phrase,  sounds  another  bell,  and  has  his  shivering  cul- 
prit spy  shown  out,  metaphorically  scourged  to  her 
work. 

Glancing  after  Eugenia,  Bolza  remarks  :  "  Verflucht! 
In  her  despair  she'll  find  out  something  for  me!  If 
the  arms  are  coming  that  way?  Yet  I  should  be 
sorry ;  I  hate  to  slay  so  fine  a  voice.  Mein  Gott,  how 
beautifully  this  Pergolese  sang  '  Ernani '  at  La  Scala 
the  last  time  I  listened  to  him !  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  have 
an  artistic  soul,  and  to  be  Minister  of  Police  in  Italy ! 
If  you  haven't  got  a  singer  under  your  hands,  you  have 
a  painter,  sculptor,  or  composer.  Verdammt!  There 
are  too  many  artists  who  call  themselves  patriots  in 
Lombard  y  and  Venetia!  Just  the  same,  that  little, 
trembling  criminal,  la  contessa,  is  frightened  enough  to 
walk  into  Hades  to  get  this  tenor's  secret,  if  he  has 
any." 

Quite  curiously,  just  about  this  time,  the  lady  of 
Bolza's  words  has  determined  to  place  herself  in  a  posi- 
tion that  will  be  Hades  to  her  haughty,  yet  pernicious, 
spirit,  to  gain  a  secret  she  imagines  Pergolese  holds. 

"  If  I  can  get  information  that  permits  Austria  to 
seize  arms  coming  to  these  conspirators,  Bolza  must 
pardon  me !  "  she  falters ;  then  reflects,  rapidly :  "  An 
hour  a  day  to  call  upon  Estelle,  for  ten  days;  that 
will  be  all  I'll  have — ten  hours!  Interrupted  by  other 
visitors  —  that  Austrian  officer,  for  instance  —  I  shall 
have  neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  reach  the  bottom 
of  my  jealous  bound-girl's  heart.  But  with  her  every 
day — alone  together — a  member  like  herself  of  Pergo- 
lese's  artistic  family " 

She  is  passing  the  Rebecchino.  Glancing  up,  she 
chances  to  see  through  one  of  its  lighted  windows  Da 
Messina  and  Radetzky,  chatting  over  their  dinner. 

"  A  light-hearted,  easy-going  young  fellow,  that  Aus- 
trian !  "  thinks  la  contessa ;  then  studies  his  compan- 


2O2  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

ion's  face  more  carefully.  "  He  doesn't  look  so  very 
awful,"  she  half  laughs.  "  And  yet  Estelle's  cries  were 
very  piteous  that  night!  But  since  then  he  has  been 
kind  enough  to  the  minx,  even  better  than  she  de- 
served." Then  her  brow  contracts,  as  if  contemplat- 
ing some  unpleasant  proposition.  She  shudders :  "  O 
Madre  Doloroso!  I  hate  to  give  anyone  such  absolute 
power  over  me;  to  throw  myself  in  the  dust  before 
him ;  to  bind  my  will  to  his !  But  it  is  that  or  Bolza, 
and  I  will  take  the  chance." 

And  an  idea,  that  has  been  drifting  in  and  out  of 
the  subtle  brain  of  the  lady,  assuming  exact  form,  she 
kisses  her  hand  mockingly  toward  Pergolese,  and  mur- 
murs, imitating  Estelle's  caress:  "Mio  padrone!"  then, 
laughing,  calls  a  cab  and  drives  to  her  hotel  to  make 
her  preparations  for  the  morrow. 

The  two  young  men  Eugenia  has  been  inspecting  are 
seated  quite  comfortably  over  a  very  elaborate  dinner 
in  the  restaurant  almost  across  the  Via  Margherita  from 
the  Austrian  Office  of  Police ;  for  Franz's  hospitality  is 
boundless  for  this  Italian  he  considers  his  preserver. 

Their  meal  has  been  a  pleasant  one.  They  have  con- 
versed as  intimates  on  every  subject  but  politics.  Ra- 
detzky  now  brings  up  the  subject  of  his  introduction 
to  Sophie  Olinska,  whom  he  seems  very  anxious  to 
meet.  "  Ach  Gott,  she  is  beautiful  as  a  dream !  "  he 
cries.  "  Three  evenings  ago  I  heard  her  as  '  Linda.' 
How  prettily  innocent  she  looked  as  a  Swiss  peasant 
girl!" 

At  this  suggestion  of  Sophie's  innocence,  Da  Mes- 
sina stifles  a  grin,  for  the  lady  under  discussion  is 
generally  considered  as  astute  and  naughty  a  sinner 
as  ever  stepped  the  opera  boards,  and  that's  saying 
sufficient  for  any  woman.  Apparently  not  very  eager 
in  the  matter,  the  Italian  asks :  "  You  are  very  anxious 
to  meet  her,  Franz  ?  " 

"  Great  heavens,  mein  freund!  It  is  the  wish  of  my 
existence!  "  cries  the  German. 

At  this,  Carlo  considers  a  moment,  and  then,  as  if 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  203 

making  up  his  mind  to  a  line  of  action,  says :  "  In 
that  case,  I  will  do  it  for  you." 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  my  comrade !  From 
the  boxes  I  have  grown  to  love  the  lady.  It  is  an 
agreement.  We  will  some  evening  give  her  a  pretty, 
little  entertainment !  "  cries  the  Austrian,  and  thus  set- 
tles a  matter  in  which  Da  Messina  is  by  no  means  anx- 
ious to  engage. 

Half  divining  Estelle  is  still  jealous  of  the  beautiful 
prima  donna,  Carlo  doesn't  wish  to  give  the  heart  he 
loves  a  single  pang.  Still,  with  the  confidence  of  man, 
he  thinks,  lightly  :  "  Pish  !  My  little  darling  will  never 
know !  Besides,  I  now  care  no  more  for  Olinska 
than  she  does  for  me — which  is  nothing.  Then  intro- 
ducing Franz  to  Sophie  will  be  such  a  graceful  retire- 
ment." 

As  Pergolese  reflects,  the  young  Austrian  officer 
breaks  hastily  in :  "I  know  it  seems  strange  to  you 
that  I,  Captain  Radetzky,  on  the  Governor's  staff,  living 
at  the  Palazzo  Reale,  have  not  yet  obtained  introduc- 
tion to  a  prima  donna  of  the  opera." 

"'  Not  at  all,"  replies  Carlo.  "  It  is  because  you  are 
what  you  are  that  social  success  in  Milan  is  so  diffi- 
cult to  you.  But  I  think  I  can  arrange  the  matter  to 
you  liking.  La  belle  Sophie  is  a  Pole.  Had  she 
been  Italian,  the  affair,  in  the  unfortunate  attitude  the 
Milanese  bear  to  those  wearing  Austrian  uniforms  had 
been  well-nigh  impossible.*  But  my  little  fete  to  la 
diva  on  the  first  convenient  evening,  will  give  you  your 
opportunity,  and  I  wish  you  every  success." 

"  You — you  are  not  in  love  with  her,  you  are  sure?  " 
asks  Franz,  rather  dubiously,  for  he  has  heard  many 
stories  of  Pergolese  and  Olinska. 

"  Not  the  slightest !  "  laughs  Da  Messina.  "  Madame 
Gerome,  our  second  contralto,  is  a  French  woman,  and 

*"  No  social  intercourse  took  place  between  the  Austrians  and  the  nobility. 
Milan  society  was  gay  and  brilliant,  but  if  any  Austrian  officer  or  official  was 
admitted  to  a  ball  at  the  house  of  a  Milanese  nobleman,  his  host  knew  well 
that  he  would  have  to  retire  to  his  country-seat,  as  none  of  his  friends  in 
Milan  would  continue  to  visit  him." — Vide^  Italy  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 
—ED. 


2O4  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

very  agreeable  company.  She'll  be  happy,  I  have  little 
doubt,  to  complete  the  quartet  of  our  supper.  After 
that,  from  your  Vienna  experience,  my  gallant,  I  im- 
agine you  know  the  way  to  a  lady's  heart." 

About  this  time,  they  having  reached  their  cheese 
and  coffee,  Radetzky,  producing  a  cigar-case,  says :  "  It 
is  impossible  at  present  to  get  decent  cigars  in  this 
town.  Francesci,  down  below,  snarls  at  me  when  I 
order  them,  though  I  have  been  his  very  good  customer. 
Permit  me  to  offer  you  a  very  fine  Havana,  imported  by 
my  uncle,  who  is  rather  a  connoisseur  in  these  matters." 

But  the  cavaliere,  conquering  an  awful  longing,  says, 
stoutly :  "  My  dear  fellow,  permit  me  to  refuse  it." 

"  Gott  in  Himmel!  You  smoked  like  a  steam  engine 
in  Lyons !  " 

"  Yes ;  but  in  Milan — of  course  you  understand — if 
I  were  seen  smoking  here — Diavolo! — I  don't  think  the 
gallery  at  La  Scala  would  let  me  sing  on  Sunday 
night !  "  half  jeers  Pergolese,  a  kind  of  reflective  mis- 
ery upon  his  face.  He  is  thinking :  "  If  twelve  hours' 
abstinence  gives  me  the  longing  of  Tantalus,  what  will 
my  sufferings  be  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Well,  since  you  won't  smoke,  neither  will  I !  " 
laughs  Franz.  "  The  way  I  should  enjoy  this  Bouquet 
de  la  Reina  would  torture  you."  With  the  instinct  of 
a  gentleman  and  a  host,  Radetzky  replaces  the  cigars  in 
his  case,  and  then  speaks  more  seriously :  "  I  know, 
Carlo,  what  you  sacrifice  in  being  comrade  to  one  who 
wears  my  uniform.  Your  relatives  and  friends  will 
probably  think  you  half  Austrian.  Did  you  notice,  at 
the  office  of  the  diligence,  how  those  fellows  who  were 
bowing  to  you  ;  as  they  saw  me  embrace  you,  suddenly 
put  on  their  hats,  and  growled  out:  '  Traditore!'  and 
'  A  basso  Pergolese  '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that  thoroughly,"  replies  Da 
Messina.  Then,  following  an  audacious  policy  he  had 
outlined  for  himself,  the  effects  of  which  were  to  be 
even  more  potent  than  he  guesses,  he  adds :  "  But  I 
prefer  your  friendship,  my  dear  fellow,  to  the  adula- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  2O5 

tions  of  those  patriots  who  fawn  on  me  one  moment 
and  would  stone  me  the  next !  " 

"  Yes,  hang  the  canaille,  how  they  frightened  your 
little  Estelle!  She  seems  to  have  a  great  esteem  for 
you.  You  think  the  little  maiden  will  be  happy  here?  " 

"  Yes.  The  only  thing  I  fear  is  that,  situated  as  she 
must  be,  Estelle  may  be  lonely,"  returns  Da  Messina, 
sadly.  "  That  came  to  me  as  I  left  her  this  evening. 
She  is  in  a  great,  big  house,  and  no  one  near  her  she 
would  care  to  make  companion." 

"  We  will  all  call  upon  mademoiselle  when  she  is 
not  busy  at  her  singing.  Madame  la  Comtesse,  who 
seems  very  fond  of  her,  says  she  will  visit  Estelle  on 
the  hour  you  permit  to-morrow,"  goes  on  the  genial 
German,  and  innocently  puts  a  pleasant  nail  in  Eu- 
genia's coffin. 

As  he  speaks,  he  catches  Da  Messina  stifling  a  yawn, 
and,  springing  up,  says :  "  Forgive  me !  Mein  Gott,  I 
am  keeping  you  up  with  my  chatter !  I  forgot  you  had 
been  traveling  in  a  diligence  all  night.  Please  remem- 
ber your  promise  as  to  Sophie,  auf  widersehen,  mein 
lieber  freund!"  With  this,  embracing  his  companion, 
the  young  officer  goes  clattering  down  the  stairs. 

As  Franz's  military  spurs  ring  upon  the  polished, 
oaken  steps,  the  conspirator,  from  very  fatigue,  almost 
staggers  to  his  chamber. 

He  had  slept  little  the  night  before  in  the  diligence, 
likewise  he  had  hardly  touched  pillow  in  Genoa;  for, 
while  Eugenia  thought  him  in  his  room,  he  had  been  in 
consultation  all  through  the  night  with  the  agents  of 
the  Patriot  Committee. 

But,  after  getting  to  his  bed,  though  exhausted  na- 
ture demands  her  meed,  Carlo  is  restless.  Tossing  on 
his  pillow,  he  wonders  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter 
with  him,  then  suddenly  yawns :  "  Corpo  di — di  Bac — 
cho,  I  know !  I'd  give  my  head  for  just  one — one 
whiff  of  a  qigar !  " 

Then,  to  forget  the  weed,  he  begins  to  think  of  his 
sweetheart.  "  If  I  could  give  my  darling  my  compan- 


206  ADRIENNE   DE    PORTALIS. 

ionship,  she  would  be  content,"  he  sighs.  "  But  in  this 
tremendous  epoch,  with  so  much  upon  me,  I  fear  she'll 
think  I  neglect  her,  and  become  lonely  almost  to  home- 
sickness." 

On  the  morrow,  as  he  surmises,  even  greater  events 
than  he  expected  keep  him  from  Estelle.  It  is  the  8th 
of  March,  and  Count  O'Donnel,  an  Irish  soldier  of  for- 
tune in  the  Austrian  service  and  Vice-Governor  of 
Lombardy,  announces  the  Emperor's  concessions  to  the 
Milanese;  and  these  not  being  at  all  to  their  liking, 
Pergolese,  together  with  their  other  leaders,  has  an  all- 
day's  work  to  keep  the  town  from  rising,  while  as  yet 
they  have  no  arms  for  patriot  hands. 

Occupied  by  this  duty,  which  is  more  arduous  be- 
cause every  movement  must  be  made  secretly,  Da  Mes- 
sina does  not  reach  the  Via  Oriani  till  seven  in  the 
evening. 

Admitted  by  the  porter  into  the  courtyard,  he  strides 
up  the  great,  stone  stairway,  and  walks  through  the  big, 
bare,  cheerless  halls  of  the  old  palazzo  to  the  parlor  of 
his  betrothed.  Here,  though  the  lamps  are  lighted,  the 
fire  burning  brightly,  and  all  very  comfortable  and 
cheerful,  he  finds  a  white-robed  child-Niobe  seated  on 
a  sofa,  with  Italian  grammar  fallen  from  her  hand,  and 
eyes  red,  voice  husky,  and  cheeks  pale  and  tear-stained. 

"  San  Marco!  "  he  snarls.  "  Has  anyone  dared  to  be 
unkind  to  thee?  " 

"  None  have  been  unkind  to  me  but — but  you! "  she 
sobs.  "  I — I  was  crying  because  you  came  not  to  me." 

"  You  received  my  bouquet  and  note?  " 

"  Yes — yes !  But  they  were  not  you !  "  Then  her 
eyes  grow  bright  at  his  caresses  ;  and  she  pleads  :  "  No 
lesson  for  a  little  while,  padrone  mio!  "  and  laughs  :  "  I 
will  be  a  tyrant  to  you !  A  child  in  public,  L  demand  a 
child's  rights  in  private." 

With  this,  pulling  him  to  an  armchair,  she  makes 
him  seat  himself  in  it,  and  nestles  on  his  knee.  "  Yes," 
she  goes  on,  "  everyone  came  to  give  me  lessons  except 
you;  though  " — here  she  laughs  a  little,  for  in  his  pres- 


ADRIfiNNE  DE  PORTALlS.  2O7 

ence  she  has  regained  her  spirits — "  they  all  thought 
me  such  a  precocious  child.  Mother  Vicenza  and  the 
fencing-master  declared  I  was  wonderfully  developed 
for  my  tender  age;  and  Madame  Pacini,  when  I  de- 
claimed to  her,  said  that  I  had  the  passion  of  a  woman ; 
and  I — I  think  so,  too !  "  She  nestles  her  blushing 
head  against  Da  Messina's  shoulder,  and  clasps  him 
with  her  tender  arms  very  tightly.  "  Yes,  all  came  to 
me  but  you.  And  now  you  say  I  have  spoiled  my  voice 
by  tears !  "  She  looks  archly  at  him,  and  pouts  :  "  You 
are  bad-tempered,  my  non-smoking  patriot !  "  then  adds, 
in  a  sneaking  whisper :  "  But  I  have  an  antidote  for 
nervous,  nicotine  irritability." 

With  this,  she  points  a  white  finger  to  the  mantel- 
piece, and  Da  Messina  sees  a  little  glass  containing 
three  tinfoiled  cylinders  that  horrify  him,  for  they  seem 
to  him — cigars! 

He  puts  her  out  of  his  arms,  and  springs  to  the 
mantelpiece.  A  single  sniff  at  them,  and  he  turns  upon 
Estelle,  growling :  "  Don't  dare  to  tempt  me !  " 

"  Pish !  You  needn't  look  so  fiercely  at  me !  "  she 
laughs.  "  You  can  smoke  these,  and  still  be  a  patriot !  " 

"  Impossible !  " 

Her  lips  speak  to  his  ear :  "  Those  paid  no  duty  to 
the  Austrian  crown." 

"  What  in  Heaven  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  when  you  told  me  in  Genoa  that  cigars 
which  had  paid  no  tribute  were  no  harm  to  patriots,  I 
said  :  'A  little  present  to  mio  padrone, when  lack  of  nico- 
tine in  his  system  makes  him  too  savage  with  his  bound- 
girl.'  That's  why  I  grabbed  those  six  pieces  of  gold  out 
of  your  purse."  Then,  in  faltering  tones,  with  appeal- 
ing gestures,  and  apologetic  manner,  the  dainty  smug- 
gler, with  one  or  two  subdued  snickers,  whispers  to  Da 
Messina  of  her  evasion  of  the  Austrian  duties. 

To  this  he  listens,  his  face  growing  pale,  and,  as 
she  closes,  says,  in  anxious  voice :  "  If  they  had  caught 
you,  child,  a  year's  imprisonment !  "  Then,  this  touch- 
ing his  heart,  as  it  would  that  of  any  smoker  deprived 


2O8  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

of  what  he  loves,  Da  Messina  looks  at  her  very  lovingly, 
and  asks :  "  And  you  took  this  risk  for  my  sake,  little 
one?" 

"  Oh,  I'd  risk  my  life  for  you,  and  you  know  it!  " 
she  whispers,  stoutly.  "  But  if  you  want  to  show  your 
gratitude,  please  smoke  just — just  a  whiff,  to  make 
me  know  I  am  forgiven.  Expecting  thee,  I  have 
pulled  down  the  blinds,  and  have  put  paper  wads  in 
the  keyholes.  No  one  shall  think  Pergolese  aught  but 
a  patriot;  and  yet  he  shall  have  the  pleasures  of  an 
Austrian  tyrant." 

"  Girl,  do  not  tempt  me !  "  he  says,  very  sternly.  "  If 
anyone  should  see  me,  I  would  be  disgraced  forever 
with  my  kindred  and  my  nation.  I  have  taken  enough 
upon  myself  in  being  friend  to  Franz." 

But,  as  he  speaks,  he  paces  up  and  down  before  the 
cigars,  like  a  shark  about  his  prey,  and  a  smiling  fairy 
archly  watches  him. 

Finally  he  picks  one  up. 

"  If  he  gets  real  scent  of  it,  he  is  lost !  "  she  chuckles ; 
and,  springing  to  his  side,  pulls  off  the  tinfoil  that 
keeps  the  aroma  from  his  nostrils.  "  It's  a  beauty,  isn't 
it  ?  I'll— I'll  bite  the  end  off  it— for  thee !  " 

"  Quick !  Sing  for  me  thy  exercise !  "  he  commands, 
as  if  to  fight  away  the  temptation. 

"  Yes,  but  first  I'll  bite  the  end  off,"  she  laughs ;  and 
does  so.  "  That  ought  to  taste  very  sweet  to  a  lover," 
she  remarks,  placing  it  in  Pergolese's  hand.  Then, 
stepping  to  the  piano,  Estelle  trills  the  notes  out  like 
a  canary  bird. 

As  she  finishes,  "Bravo!  Bravo!  BRAVISSIMO  !  " 
is  whispered  behind  her  ear,  accompanied  by  three  puffs 
of  smoke,  which,  coming  over  her  white  shoulder,  float 
out  in  rings  before  her. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  she  cries,  clapping  her  hands.  "  You 
would  never  praise  me  like  that  unless  tobacco  had 
taken  the  bear  out  of  you !  " 

"  Diavolo,  it  was  from  very  force  of  habit !  "  he  says, 
sheepishly.  "  As  I  listened,  I  forgot  all  else  except  thy 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

glorious  voicf."  But  here  he  puffs  another  ring  or  two 
out  of  his  mouth,  and  whispers,  with  hoarse  eagerness : 
"  How  many  boxes  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me — you  are  killing  me  with  laughter !  " 

"  How  many  boxes  ?  " 

"  Two  boxes — ninety-five  cigars.  I  broke  the  other 
five  by  sitting  on  them,  when  you  drove  me  wild  by 
saying  I  was  vain  of — of  my  ankles.  Old  Mother  Vi- 
cenza,  as  I  danced  to-day,  said — but  never  mind  what 
old  Vicenza  said,"  she  mumbles,  getting  very  red  in 
the  face.  "  There  are  only  ninety-five — I  mean  ninety- 
four Gracious,  how  fast  you  smoked  it !  " 

"  Ninety- four !  Twelve  days  from  now !  "  mutters 
Carlo,  consideringly.  "  Then  there  are  enough !  " 

At  this,  Estelle,  who  has  a  very  quick  wit,  remember- 
ing when  the  English  tradesman  was  to  deliver  the 
arms,  begins  to  tremble ;  but  Da  Messina,  who  is  now 
fondling  another  cigar,  doesn't  notice  it,  and  remarks : 
"  I'd  like,  if  I  dared,  to  give  away  some  of  these  to 
poor  Manara.  Luciano  is  so  miserable  he  sneaks  off 
to  the  country,  and  smokes  bark  in  his  despair — a  de- 
spair from  which  you  have  kept  me,  my  dear,  thought- 
ful one!" 

"  Well,  since  you  are  amiable  and  normal  again, 
please  light  that  other  cigar,  while  I  ask  you  a  favor. 
I — I  am  very  lonely  here — 

"  Yes — yes !  "  he  breaks  in.  "  I  sometimes  feared 
that  might  be " 

"  The  days  would  seem  short  were  you  always  by 
me,"  she  remarks.  "  But  I  know — that  is  impossible 
now.  Well,  the  day  went  quite  well  for  me,  until  four 
o'clock.  I  worked  hard  at  my  lessons.  My  instructors 
came  regularly  —  all  but  one!  Eugenia  came,  and 
Franz.  But  Franz  went  in  fifteen  minutes  or  so.  He 
said  there  had  been  a  great  commotion  in  the  streets.  I 
think  the  Austrian  officers  are  much  worried  at  the  at- 
titude of  the  populace." 

"  Yes — yes !    But  your  favor  ?  " 

"  Eugenia  stayed  with  me  the  hour  that  you  permit, 


210  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

and  when  she  went  away,  I  waited  for  you  and  waited 
for  you ;  and  oh,  how  dreary  this  great,  deserted  house 
felt  to  me,  where  I  am  treated  like  a  princess,  and  envy 
the  chattering  ballet-girls  of  old  Vicenza,  as  they  romp 
about  up-stairs ;  who,  though  they  sometimes  squeal  un- 
der their  padrona's  cane,  seem  to  me  to  be  as  merry  as 
their  tongues  are  long !  " 

"  Yes— but  this  favor?  " 

"  Now,  Eugenia  has  been  very  unfortunate,  and  to- 
morrow will  have  something  to  ask.  If  you  grant  it, 
it  will  be  more  than  a  favor  to  me.  When  she  asks 
you,  think  of  my  loneliness.  She  has  already  had  a 
chat  with  Mother  Vicenza,  who  says  she'll  make  a 
graceful  dancer." 

"  What  enigma  is  on  thy  pretty  lips  ?  "  Estelle  has 
come  out  with  Da  Messina  to  say  adieu  in  the  hallway. 

"  Signora  di  Vilermo  wishes  to  be  your  apprentice, 
and  I  wish  it,  too !  " 

At  this  extraordinary  suggestion  Carlo  emits  a  pro- 
longed and  astonished  whistle,  and  after  a  moment  re- 
marks :  "  You  desire  a  maid  ?  " 

"  No,  a  companion.  Under  this  arrangement,  Eu- 
genia would  be  no  bar  to  our  tete-d-tctes.  She  could 
learn  dancing  under  Vicenza,  and  I  could  have  her  near 
me  when  I  pleased.  She  has  been  ruined  by  those  hor- 
rid Magyar  patriots.  She  is  almost,  Carlo — Mon  Dieu  f 
— destitute.  You  told  her  you  would  permit  no  woman 
to  be  intimate  with  me,  unless  you  controlled  her  ac- 
tions. You  see,  I  promised  to  plead  her  cause  for  her. 
Now  I'll  wipe  your  mustache  with  a  little  cologne,  so 
you  can  have  the  breath  of  a  patriot,"  she  laughs.  "  Go 
and  ask  Paola,  and  see  if  Eugenia  will  cost  you  money." 

So  he  strolls  carelessly  away  to  the  room  of  Madre 
Vicenza,  where  he  queries :  "  Can  you  so  arrange  her 
exercises  that  the  lady  coming  to  you  to-day,  to  ask 
your  advice  as  to  dancing,  can  be  taken  to  Estelle  when- 
ever she  desires  her  company?  " 

"  Of  course  I  can,"  replies  Paola.  "  Only  you  get 
that  beauty  for  me.  She  has  been  wonderfully  taught 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  '  211 

in  early  youth.  Diavolo,  with  my  training,  in  a  week  I 
can  make  her  a  coryphee;  in  a  month,  a  secondo;  in  a 
year — the  devil  knows  what !  •  For  she  will  look  so 
pretty  in  dancing  togs  that  half  the  gallants  in  Italy 
will  be  running  after  her." 

Returning  from  this  to  Estelle,  who  has  been  waiting 
for  him  in  the  hallway,  she  asks,  anxiously :  "  Can't 
you  arrange  the  matter?  " 

"  Perhaps !    I'll  think  about  it." 

"  Then  remember  this,"  she  says  to  him,  quite  plead- 
ingly ;  "  if  you  grant  Eugenia's  plea,  you  will  not  find 
me  in  tears  when  you  come  next  time,  which  will  be 
soon,  I  imagine,  as  I  have  cigars  within  my  house. 
Won't  you  light  one  to  smoke  as  you  go  home  ?  " 

"  Gran  Dio!    I  should  be  mobbed  in  the  street!  " 

"  But  they  are  very  fine  ones,  anyway !  Eugenia 
helped  me  smuggle  them.  That  should  make  you  grate- 
ful to  her.  Think  of  that  when  she  asks,  and  don't 
imagine  Estelle  will  not  like  it,  for  she  will,  and  will 
give  you  a  lot  of  kisses  for  it — and  cigars!"  This  last 
is  a  whisper,  as  she  tears  herself  from  Da  Messina's 
arms,  and  runs  back  into  the  parlor. 

"  Cospetto  I  Eugenia  helped  my  darling  smuggle !  " 
laughs  the  conspirator,  as  he  paces  home  through  the 
excited  streets  of  this  Italian  city  getting  ready  for  re- 
volt. "  Besides,  Estelle  likes  la  contessa.  This,  in  her 
loneliness,  may  be  a  good  arrangement  for  her." 

These  considerations  make  him  quite  pliable  to  the 
Austrian  spy  when  she  calls  upon  Da  Messina  the  fol- 
lowing morning. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

SOME    CURIOUS    NEWS   FROM    ENGLAND. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  il  Cavaliere  da 
Messina  is  seated  at  his  breakfast  table,  languidly  look- 
ing over  some  journals,  local  and  foreign.  Under  a 
strict  censorship,  the  Milan  newspapers  contain  but  little 


212  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

of  interest ;  but  an  item  in  a  late  Paris  Figaro,  which 
has  come  quite  rapidly  via  Geneva,  makes  Pergolese, 
after  a  hearty  laugh,  -remark,  sotto  voce:  "  This  will 
amuse  my  darling !  "  and  places  the  paper  carefully  in 
his  pocket. 

While  doing  this,  a  little,  perfumed  note  is  brought  in 
to  him  by  his  valet.  The  handwriting  is  feminine,  but 
unknown  to  him. 

As  Da  Messina  inspects  it  rather  superciliously — for 
billets  doux  are  common  to  this  idol  of  the  Italian 
stage — his  servitor  remarks :  "  This  came  here,  Sig- 
nore,  from  Madre  Vicenza's  by  Josepha." 

Ah,  then,  how  quickly  the  scented  envelope  is  opened ! 
How  lovingly  the  epistle  of  his  betrothed  is  scanned! 
It  is  very  brief,  and  reads : 

"  CARLO  Mio :  I  was  so  lonely  again  all  last  night 
that  I  want  to  remind  you  to  say  '  Yes,'  if  possible,  to 
Eugenia's  coming  petition.  Don't  think  I  will  be  jeal- 
ous— for  I  won't.  I  know  only  one  has  your  heart — 
and  that  is  your  ESTELLE. 

"  P.  S. — I  nearly  signed  another  name.  Mon  Dieu, 
how  thy  love  has  changed  this  world  for  me !  " 

This  is  the  first  letter  he  has  ever  had  from  his  sweet- 
heart. He  inspects  the  pretty,  feminine,  French  hand 
in  which  it  is  written,  and,  after  fondling  it  a  little, 
places  it  carefully  among  his  treasures,  and  sits  lazily 
contemplating  the  pretty  parlor  of  his  suite  of  apart- 
ments in  the  Hotel  Rebecchino.  An  entrance,  draped 
with  tapestry,  gives  a  glimpse  of  his  comfortable  bed- 
room. Immediately  in  the  rear  of  this  is  a  small  writ- 
ing-room. The  whole  place  has  that  peculiar  artistic 
abandon  which  denotes  the  careless  ease  of  a  bachelor 
and  a  bohemian. 

A  few  pictures,  all  of  them  very  fine,  adorn  the  walls 
of  the  rooms.  Three  or  four  bronzes  and  statuettes, 
masterpieces  in  their  way,  are  scattered  about.  Upon 
a  marqueterie  cabinet  lie  two  or  three  daguerreotypes 
and  a  few  miniatures,  mostly  of  beautiful  women.  A 
musical  library  is  indicated  by  bookshelves  holding 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  2 1 3 

the  bound  scores  of  nearly  all  important  operas,  includ- 
ing even  Gliick  and  his  rival,  Piccini.  Lots  of  sheet 
music  is  also  en  evidence;  likewise  the  part  of  "  Ed- 
gardo,"  that  Pergolese  is  recovering  for  next  Sunday 
evening. 

The  whole  is  presided  over  by  one  Francisco  Anto- 
nelli,  Da  Messina's  factotum,  a  Tuscan  of  middle  age 
and  precise  demeanor.  Though  Antonelli  is  Italian  to 
his  heart's  core,  Carlo  has  not  dared  to  take  him  to 
France,  considering  the  very  peculiar  and  critical  busi- 
ness that  has  been  almost  the  sole  object  of  his  visit  to 
that  country. 

Just  at  this  moment,  this  servitor  brings  in  la  Con- 
tessa  di  Vilermo's  card. 

"  You  seem  in  better  spirits  than  yesterday  morning, 
maestro"  remarks  the  valet,  as  he  presents  the  salver  to 
his  master. 

"  Yes,  I  am  more  buoyant,"  replies  Carlo,  cheerfully, 
pausing  between  the  bars  of  one  of  "  Edgardo's  "  ca- 
denzas ;  very  well  knowing  that  it  is  not  only  last  even- 
ing's smoke,  but  the  certainty  of  a  coming  one  this 
evening,  that  makes  his  spirits  so  good.  Then  he  cheer- 
fully commands :  "  Send  her  up  at  once!  " 

One  minute  after,  Eugenia  di  Vilermo  stands  before 
him.  A  distracted  pleading  is  on  her  spirituelle  face. 
Aware  of  the  potency  of  woman's  beauty,  though  her 
manner  is  distraught,  her  toilet  is  simple  but  becoming. 
A  neat  hat  tops  the  waving  bands  of  her  lustrous  hair. 
A  plain,  black,  velvet  robe  outlines  each  contour  of  her 
svelte,  graceful,  yet  almost  voluptuous,  form ;  its  bodice 
very  tightly  laced,  its  skirts  sweeping  almost  in  train  to 
the  floor. 

As  Pergolese  rises  to  cordially  greet  her,  she  tenders 
him  a  low,  sweeping,  and  humble  courtesy.  He  polite- 
ly motions  her  to  a  seat ;  but  she,  still  standing,  speaks 
very  eagerly :  "  I  thank  you  for  receiving  me,  Signore. 
I  would  not  have  troubled  you,  but  I  am  in  serious  finan- 
cial difficulty.  You  have  heard  of  this  from  Estelle. 
In  the  goodness  of  her  heart,  she  promised  to  speak  for 


214  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

me.  I  find  myself  penniless,  in  a  strange  city.  This 
Hungarian  matter  " — her  voice  becomes  a  whisper — 
"  has  already  broken  out " 

"Santo  Gennaro!  Do  you  think  so?"  The  spasm 
of  joy  that  runs  over  Da  Messina's  face  makes  Eugenia 
certain  this  man  has  a  distinct  hope  in  Austria's  mili- 
tary embarrassment. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it.  It  has  ruined  me !  "  she  says, 
despairingly;  then  goes  on,  hurriedly  and  eagerly: 
"  Please — please  let  me  explain,  to  you  my  awfui 
strait !  " 

"  Very  well.  But  first  take  a  chair,  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse,"  remarks  Pergolese,  affably;  and  listens,  half 
abstractedly,  to  her  tale  of  financial  woe  and  statement 
of  how  the  Hungarian  uprising  has  brought  absolute 
ruin  to  her  very  small  property ;  that  her  agents  have 
refused  not  only  to  send  her  more  money,  but  have  de- 
manded repayment  for  what  they  have  already  ad- 
vanced. From  this,  she  goes  into  an  account  of  how 
quickly  Madre  Vicenza  says  she  can  make  her  a  dan- 
seuse;  adding,  very  humbly,  but  very  earnestly  :  "  You 
have  heard  my  petition  from  Estelle.  I  already  know 
that  you  will  not  accept  anyone  as  her  companion  whose 
actions  you  can  not  completely  control." 

"  Yes,"  he  replies.  "  In  the  present  aspect  of  affairs, 
that  is  quite  impossible." 

"  Yes — yes,  I  understand  that,"  she  answers,  her 
voice  very  earnest.  "  But  please — please  pardon  a  re- 
quest, prompted  by  the  desperate  nature  of  my  circum- 
stances. I  have  scarce  enough  to  pay  my  hotel  bill,  and 
— God  knows  what  I  will  do !  "  Tears  come  into  her 
expressive  eyes.  "  Therefore,  I — I  " — agitation  seems 
to  conquer  her — "  I  pray  you  take  me  as  your  appren- 
tice !  Paola  assures  me  that  my  services  can  be  made 
valuable  shortly.  I  place  myself  in  your  hands,  Signore 
Pergolese.  I  know  it  is  unusual  for  one  who  has  passed 
her  majority ;  but  I  am  still  very  young.  Have  my 
indentures  to  you  drawn  up,  and  I  will  sign  them,  and 
become  most  obedient  and  docile  to  your  authority." 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  21$ 

Her  very  eagerness  might  give  Carlo  suspicion,  but 
he  has  no  distrust  of  her.  He  remembers  that  this 
woman  aided  his  sweetheart  to  smuggle.  "  Therefore, 
if  she  is  not  one  of  us,  she  is  no  Austrian,"  he  reflects. 
The  only  thing  of  which  he  feared  discovery — the  im- 
portation of  the  arms — is  all  arranged,  and  now  out  of 
his  hands.  But  he  forgets  that  nothing  is  achieved 
until  it  is  finished. 

"  To  be  candid  with  you,  Madame,"  he  replies,  "  the 
great,  and  practically  the  only,  reason  why  I  consider 
your  plea,  which  will  give  me  some  responsibility  and 
trouble,  is  because  your  company  will  be,  I  hope,  an 
antidote  to  the  great  loneliness  of  Estelle,  who  is  cut 
off  so  much  from  society,  living  almost  by  herself  in 
that  great,  deserted  house ;  for  I  have  no  time  nor  wish 
for  training  debutantes.  If  I  accept  your  offer,  you 
will  be  taken  to  my  ward  at  her  demand ;  and  while 
with  her  you  will  render  to  her  the  same  service  and 
obedience  you  give  to  me." 

This  mention  of  being  ruled  by  one  she  considers  a 
chit  of  a  girl  is  a  bitter  pill  to  the  haughty  contessa ;  but 
she  gulps  it  down,  answering,  very  humbly  :  "  Yes,  Sig- 
nore;  any  command  from  Estelle,  as  you  wish,  shall 
be  my  law." 

"  As  to  your  dancing  education,  your  training  and 
discipline  in  that  matter  will  be  entirely  at  the  hands  of 
Madre  Vicenza ;  I  shall  take  no  part  in  it,"  remarks  Da 
Messina.  "  But,  if  I  know  anything  about  this  lady's 
methods,  your  lot  will  be  a  hard  one.  You  have  con- 
sidered the  matter,  I  presume,  and  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes — of  course  I  know  Mother  Vicenza  has 
a  cane."  Here  la  contessa  blushes  and  winces  a  little  in 
thought  of  that  dread  implement;  then  says,  rapidly,  to 
conceal  her  embarrassment :  "  Oh,  I  am  quite  well 
aware  of  what  is  before  me !  Did  I  not  once  live  in  a 
house  where  four  musical  phenomena  slaved  for  a  stern 
padronaf  " 

Despite  herself,  a  tinge  of  bitterness  is  in  Madame 
Intrigante's  voice ;  though  all  the  time  she  is  thinking : 


2l6  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

"  But  a  week  or  two  of  this  humility !  When  I  deliver 
this  conspirator  to  Bolza's  justice,  I  release  myself  from 
the  trammels  of  both  padrone  and  police." 

"  Very  well !  "  And  Da  Messina  paces  up  and  down 
the  room  once  or  twice,  she  watching  him  eagerly,  wist- 
fully. For  if  this  man  grants  her  petition,  Signora  di 
Vilermo  is  quite  certain  that,  admitted  to  intimacy  with 
his  ward,  she  will,  in  some  unguarded  moment,  obtain 
the  evidence  that  Bolza  demands.  If  Pergolese  refuses, 
she  has  little  hope  of  escaping  an  Austrian  dungeon. 
And  two  precious  days  of  the  ten  allowed  her  by  Bolza 
are  already  gone! 

The  terrible  anxiety  of  her  face  makes  Da  Messina 
sure  Eugenia's  financial  strait  must  be  very  dire. 

Then  he  pauses  before  her,  and  her  heart  sinks.  He 
says :  "  I  advise  you  not  to  place  yourself  in  a  condition 
which  will  crush  your  pride.  Vicenza  is  very  severe. 
Believe  me,  I  pity  you."  And,  his  generous  hand  pro- 
ducing gold,  drives  the  spy  to  despair. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  pleads,  desperately.  "  I — I  could 
never  pay  you  back !  It  is  the  only  way  I  can  earn  an 
honest  living." 

But  here  she  gives  a  quick  gasp  of  relief,  and  has  to 
struggle  to  keep  her  face  from  suspicious  exultation; 
for  he  is  saying  to  her  in  the  easy  familiarity  of  pa- 
drone's command :  "  Eugenia,  I  accept  your  service." 

"  Oh,  God  thank  you,  Signore !  "  La  contessa  imme- 
diately rises,  and  stands  respectfully  before  him. 

"  Go  at  once  to  your  hotel,  and  pay  your  bill.  Have 
you  money  enough  for  that  ?  " 

"  Not  by  a  few  florins,  Signore,"  she  answers ;  for 
she  is  too  wary  to  destroy  her  pleaded  impecuniosity  by 
an  overflowing  purse. 

"  Then  here's  the  money  necessary."  He  hands  her 
a  couple  of  gold  pieces.  "  From  the  Bretagne  send  at 
once  your  luggage  to  Madre  Vicenza ;  then  return  di- 
rectly here  " — he  glances  at  her  velvet  robe,  and  adds — 
"  properly  garbed  for  your  new  station.  I  will  have 
the  notary  draw  up  your  papers ;  when  you  have  signed 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  217 

them,  you  will  be  immediately  sent  to  Mother  Vicenza." 
His  tone  is  affable,  but  commanding. 

"  Yes !  "  she  answers :  "  I  understand !  I  thank  you, 
mio  padrone ! "  and,  for  the  first  time  giving  to  him 
the  title  of  her  servitude,  courtesies  to  the  very  floor; 
and  so  passes  out,  quite  humbly.  But,  as  Eugenia 
closes  the  door,  a  look  of  triumph  illumines  her  mobile 
face,  giving  it  an  unholy  radiance,  as  she  thinks :  "  At 
last,  I've  got  my  chance!  " 

Less  than  an  hour  afterward,  as  Carlo  is  sitting  with 
a  notary  in  his  parlor,  a  very  handsome  woman  comes 
in  to  them.  She  is  plainly  garbed  in  a  frock  of  dark 
blue  stuff,  that  fits  her  handsome  figure  accurately.  It 
is  entirely  without  furbelows  or  trimmings,  save  a  slight 
ruffle  at  the  neck  and  wrists.  Her  luxuriant  hair  is 
braided  modestly  into  two  demure  tails,  which  are  tied 
with  ribbon  of  the  same  color  as  her  gown,  the  skirt  of 
which  falls  just  below  the  tops  of  two  perfectly  fitting, 
high-heeled  Polish  bottines,  that  tightly  laced  to  mid- 
way between  ankle  and  knee  outline  the  symmetry  of 
perfect  feet  and  superb  limbs. 

She  courtesies  quite  humbly  to  Da  Messina,  and  like- 
wise to  the  notary ;  and  then  is  motioned  to  a  chair. 

Whereupon,  after  a  few  minutes,  the  document  being 
completed,  at  the  request  of  the  official,  Eugenia,  rising, 
takes  her  oath  of  apprenticeship ;  and,  signing  the  ar- 
ticles of  indenture  with  great  rejoicing  in  her  heart, 
gives  herself,  with  all  the  formality  of  Italian  municipal 
law,  to  a  seven  years'  vassalage. 

The  notary  has  departed.  The  bound-girl  is  stand- 
ing before  her  padrone,  her  blue  eyes  darkened,  as  if 
by  the  sadness  of  her  fate ;  for  she  is  playing  her  role 
very  well.  The  innate  beauty  of  her  drooping  pose  ap- 
peals to  Da  Messina's  artistic  taste.  At  this  moment, 
la  contessa  has  both  his  sympathy  and  esteem ;  when, 
by  one  false  step,  the  intrigante  tosses  these  away. 

Wishing  to  cheer  this  exquisite  woman  who,  com- 
pelled by  poverty,  has  given  to  him  her  liberty,  Carlo 
remarks,  cordially  and  admiringly :  "  Eugenia,  you  have 


2l8  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

one  thing  in  your  favor — you  will  make  a  magnificent 
appearance  on  the  stage." 

"  Thank  Heaven  you  think  so,  my  kind-hearted  maes- 
tro ! "  she  answers,  a  veiled  petition  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Per  Baccho,  I  do !  "  he  laughs ;  adding,  with  pa- 
drone's freedom :  "  Your  face  is  beautiful ;  your  form 
is  perfect  as  a  Hebe's !  " 

These  words  of  encouragement  prompt  Eugenia  to  a 
dire  mistake. 

Having  gained  entrance  to  Pergolese's  privacy,  and 
chance  of  intimacy  with  the  girl  she  guesses  holds  his 
secrets,  this  lady,  who  is  by  nature  both  languid  and 
luxurious,  no  longer  wishes  the  hard  discipline  and  un- 
ceasing exercise  that  will  fall  upon  Mother  Vicenza's 
dancing-girl. 

Therefore,  believing  Estelle  is  Da  Messina's  mistress, 
and  thinking,  "  If  I  gain  my  autocrat's  favor,  I  shall 
have  the  same  luxuries  and  liberties  of  that  pampered 
minx !  "  she  steps  to  him,  appealingly,  and  suddenly 
seizing  his  hand  in  both  of  hers,  after  one  quick  glance 
of  coquetry,  murmurs,  in  tempting  bashfulness :  "  Now, 
I — I  presume,  padrone  mio,  if  I  am  very  obedient  and 
nice  to  you,  I  shall  be  petted  by  you  almost  as  you 
caress  Estelle,  though  I  am  bigger  than  she,  and  can 
not  be  carried  about  and  dandled  on  your  knee  so 
easily." 

Her  last  words  die  away  in  a  flutter ;  for,  even  as  she 
speaks,  Eugenia's  acute  senses  tell  her  she  has  made  a 
dismal  error.  From  this  time  on,  Pergolese's  manner 
to  her  changes. 

"  Of  course  not !  "  he  says,  in  sharpest  sternness ; 
adding,  as  if  in  excuse  for  his  partiality :  "  Estelle  paid 
for  my  instruction  fifteen  thousand  francs,  and  is  about 
to  become  famous.  Understand  this,  my  relations  to 
her  are  most  honorable." 

Then,  resenting  this  insidious  attack  upon  his  faith 
to  his  betrothed,  who,  in  the  innocence  of  her  heart,  has 
pleaded  for  this  woman,  who  now  assaults  her  happi- 
ness, he  says  in  low  tones  that  frighten  his  flirtatious 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS.  219 

apprentice :  "  Now,  mark  me  !  I  shall  simply  give  to 
you  the  care  your  indentures  require  from  me :  but  I 
shall  also  govern  you  rigorously.  So  be  very  careful. 
If  I  detect  you  in  disobedience,  deceit,  or  light  conduct, 
I  shall  make  you  tremble."  For  Carlo  now  guesses 
that  Eugenia  has  all  of  these  within  her  frivolous  head. 

Having  lost  his  respect  for  her,  and  therefore  much 
of  his  interest  in  her,  and  anxious  to  get  the  matter 
through,  he  continues  brusquely  to  la  contessa,  who  is 
hanging  her  head,  trying  to  look  docile :  "  Now,  I  will 
take  you  to  Madre  Vicenza." 

His  hand  is  on  the  bell-rope,  when  Antonelli,  entering, 
says :  "  Signer  Zerconi  begs  to  be  announced.  From 
his  face,  I  fear  he  has  some  ugly  news." 

"  Oh,  the  manager  of  La  Scala !  Show  him  up !  " 
remarks  Pergolese ;  and,  his  valet  having  departed,  he 
says :  "  Step  this  way,  Eugenia !  "  indicating  that  his 
apprentice  is  to  retire  into  his  writing-room. 

"  At  once !  "  he  commands ;  for,  not  wishing  to  dis- 
obey him,  and  increase  his  condemnation,  yet  eager 
to  know  what  bad  news  this  gentleman  brings,  the  lady- 
spy,  seems  to  linger  in  her  movement. 

The  next  instant,  her  languid  steps  are  quickened ;  la 
contessa  feels  her  delicate  arm  seized  by  the  strong  grasp 
of  authority.  In  a  jiffy  she  is  ignominiously  marched 
through  his  bedroom,  and  deliberately  locked  up  in  the 
adjoining  writing-room. 

In  this  confinement,  after  a  moment's  furious  rage, 
forcing  herself  to  philosophy,  she  thinks :  "  Pish ! 
Why  should  I  resent  treatment  I  have  brought  upon 
myself  ?  Besides,  I  have  really  gained  my  object.  This 
very  room  is  forecast  of  my  opportunity." 

She  looks  about  with  the  carefulness  of  an  experi- 
enced moitche,  not  for  actual  evidences  of  Da  Messina's 
conspiring — she  has  no  absurd  hope  of  that — but  for 
some  little  article  which  will  help  her  cause. 

There  are  many  things  she  fears  to  move,  as  they 
have  grown  dusty  during  their  owner's  absence  in 
France,  indicating  that  Antonetti  is  a  lazy  fellow. 


220  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

But  the  waste  basket  has  been  in  recent  use!  This 
catches  her  quick  eye.  In  an  instant  she  is  investigat- 
ing it.  Carelessly  tossed  into  it,  with  some  other  desul- 
tory correspondence — a  note  from  his  impresario,  an 
offer  from  the  San  Carlo,  in  Naples,  of  an  engagement 
— she  finds  a  perfumed  billet  doux  in  a  lady's  hand. 
Reading  it  easily,  for  it  is  torn  only  into  four  pieces, 
she  jeers :  "  The  first  implement  to  make  Estelle  hate 
and  betray  our  padrone !  " 

For  it  is  a  note  from  the  reigning  prima  donna,  the 
woman  Carlo's  sweetheart  fears,  Sophie  Olinska,  accept- 
ing Pergolese's  invitation  to  a  supper  on  the  coming 
Monday,  and  also  suggesting  that  on  the  same  after- 
noon, if  fine,  he  drives  with  her  in  the  Giardini  Publica, 
those  pretty  gardens  that  are  the  playground  of  the 
Milanese. 

"  Diavolo !  La  diva  mentions  Monday  afternoon !  " 
thinks  la  contessa.  "  If  I  can  but  show  Da  Messina 
riding  with  his  mistress  to  Estelle !  " 

But  in  this  the  intrigante  does  Pergolese  an  injustice. 

For  Sophie,  who  has  had  half  a  dozen  admirers  dur- 
ing his  absence,  has,  upon  his  return,  whispered  to  him  : 
"  You  desire  to  introduce  this  dashing  Austrian  captain 
to  me  ?  I  have  noticed  by  his  attentions  to  me,  his  flow- 
ers, and  certain  other  hints  of  anonymous  jewelry,  that 
he  perchance  wishes  to  be  quite  devoted  to  me.  As 
you,  Carlo,  give  this  little  fete  for  the  very  purpose  of 
introducing  him,  I  presume  I  shall  very  shortly  see  the 
last  of  you.  Please  take  your  leave  of  me  so  that  Milan 
doesn't  scoff  me.  One  drive  about  the  Corso,  and  then 
when,  on  my  next,  another  gentleman  sits  by  my  side, 
the  world  will  say " 

"  That  I  did  not  desert  you — but  you  me?  With  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  the  world,  Signorita  Olinska !  "  Per- 
golese has  replied,  with  a  bow.  And  this  note  merely 
mentions  the  afternoon  la  diva  has  selected. 

This  epistle  being  sufficient  for  Eugenia's  purpose, 
she  hastily  conceals  it  over  a  heart  that  beats  with  hope ; 
and  is  quite  happy  when,  after  a  few  minutes  of  con- 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  221 

finement,  her  padrone,  unlocking  the  door,  calls  her, 
sternly,  to  him. 

As  she  comes  out  to  him,  observing  the  mutiny  upon 
her  delicate  lips,  he  says,  warningly :  "  You  are,  I  fear, 
about  to  make  yourself  much  trouble,  Eugenia.  Mother 
Vicenza  will  not,  like  me,  excuse  a  reluctant  disobedi- 
ence. Prepare  yourself,  and  I  will  take  you  to  her." 

La  contessa's  experience  has  been  such  that  she  hur- 
riedly answers :  "  Yes,  mio  padrone,"  and  makes  hum- 
ble courtesy. 

As  she  drapes  her  skirt  for  the  salute,  her  maestro 's 
face,  coldly  critical,  exhibits  disapproval.  "  Peste! "  he 
says,  grimly.  "  You  are  not  arrayed  for  your  station, 
as  I  directed.  Pearl,  silken  hose  and  tasseled  boots,  fit 
to  deck  a  princessa's  limbs,  on  a  dancing  apprentice  will 
create  some  comment  among  the  loungers  about  the 
hotel." 

"  I — I  didn't  think,"  she  says,  deprecatingly. 

But  he  knows  she  did  think ;  and  remarks,  severely : 
"  Never  dare  to  wear  these  in  the  street  again !  Now 
put  on  your  wraps  at  once,  and  veil  yourself  closely ! " 
and  immediately  leads  his  beautiful  and  coquettish  ap- 
prentice to  a  carriage. 

Here,  taking  a  seat  opposite  to  her,  as  they  drive  off, 
his  words  increase  Eugenia's  indignation.  "  I  have  al- 
ready given  half  interest  in  your  services  to  Madre  Vi- 
cenza," he  remarks,  "  so  that  she  will  be  most  urgent  in 
your  education.  When  Estelle  sends  for  you,  be  careful 
she  does  not  report  your  inattention  to  her  requests  or 
disregard  of  her  directions  to  Madre  Paola;  for  from 
now  on  I  shall  probably  see  but  little  of  you." 

This  practical  refusal  to  give  her  any  great  personal 
supervision  is  a  slight  to  Eugenia's  pride.  "  He  has  no 
more  consideration  for  me  than  for  any  apprentice  pov- 
erty might  bring  to  him !  "  she  thinks,  bitterly,  and  be- 
gins to  long  for  her  padrone's  undoing.  Before,  her 
pursuit  of  Da  Messina  had  been  simply  from  the  wish 
to  gain  Bolza's  pardon ;  to  this  is  now  added  a  personal 
hate,  that  gradually  grows  tremendous. 


222  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Her  face  is  very  pale,  as  her  padrone  assists  her  from 
the  carriage,  and  leads  her  up  the  big  stairway. 

But  he  is  intercepted  by  light  feet,  and  a  joyous  voice 
cries :  "  Carlo  mio,  thank  you  for  Eugenia !  "  as  Estelle 
places  the  arm  of  affection  about  la  contessa's  waist. 

Misconstruing  this  unfortunate  phrase,  the  new 
bound-girl  thinks,  bitterly  :  " '  Thank  you  for  Eugenia ! ' 
Diavolo,  the  chick  imagines  she  owns  me,  too !  "  And, 
though  she  responds  very  sweetly  to  the  favorite's  kiss 
of  welcome,  she  includes  Da  Messina's  betrothed  in  the 
wormwood  of  her  heart. 

But  now,  with  a  quick,  athletic  rush,  Paola  comes 
down  to  seize  upon  her  prize.  She  says,  cordially: 
"  Welcome,  my  child,  to  my  home !  "  but,  after  a  mo- 
ment, adds :  "  Run  up-stairs,  pet,  at  once.  We'll  have 
you  at  your  exercises  very  quickly.  I  shall  make  of 
you  a  superb  artiste  before  you  think  it !  "  With  this, 
the  strong-armed,  strong-limbed,  masculine  dancing 
mistress  leads  her  new  pupil  away,  and  from  this  time 
becomes  Eugenia's  autocrat. 

On  being  so  suddenly  deprived  of  her  companion's 
company,  Estelle  pouts  slightly ;  but  as  they  stand  to- 
gether in  her  parlor,  Da  Messina  remarks :  "  You  must 
interfere  as  little  as  possible  with  Eugenia's  training; 
besides,  my  darling,  you  have  your  own  studies  to  keep 
you  busy." 

"  Yes,  Madame  Pacini  comes  in  a  few  minutes,"  re- 
turns his  betrothed ;  but  laughs :  "  I  know  my  decla- 
mation, so  you've  just  time  to  kiss  me." 

As  he  takes  her  to  his  breast,  the  crumpling  of  the 
newspaper  reminds  him.  "  Here  is  a  curious  rumor 
from  England  in  the  Figaro,"  he  remarks,  and  passes 
the  journal  to  her,  pointing  out  the  item,  which  reads : 
"  A  passenger  who  has  just  arrived  from  Dover,  Eng- 
land, reports  to  us  that  the  fugitive  Baronne  de  Por- 
talis  was  in  that  place  when  he  left.  This  astute  lady 
of  many  crimes,  it  is  said,  escaped  from  France  in  the 
suit  of  Louis  Philippe.  Like  the  flying  king,  who 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALlS.  223 

called  himself  William  Smith,  she  gave  herself  an 
English  name,  and  traveled  as  Bridget  Jones." 

Inspecting  this  peculiar  output  of  Gallic  journalism, 
Estelle's  face  grows  pale,  and  she  trembles  slightly; 
but  finding  the  arm  of  her  protector  about  her  waist, 
and  hearing  a  voice  of  which  she  is  quite  in  awe,  yet 
loves  with  her  whole  soul,  saying,  tenderly,  "  Don't 
fear ;  no  mouchard  shall  get  my  prize !  "  her  color  re- 
turns, and  she  remarks,  naively :  "  Mon  Dieu,  the  news- 
papers will  soon  make  me  out  as  marvelously  elusive  a 
criminal  as  Robert  Macaire  himself !  " 

"  Pish !  I  know  where  to  find  Madame  la  Baronne 
every  time !  "  laughs  Da  Messina. 

And  saluting  his  prize,  he  thinks  no  more  of  this 
report,  or  several  additional  rumors  of  la  Baronne  de 
Portalis,  which  come  to  him  from  time  to  time ;  though 
in  the  future  crisis  of  his  life  these  canards  rise  up  be- 
fore him,  for  a  little  time,  big  as  Colossus ! 

Therefore  saying  to  his  sweetheart  that  he  will  call 
again  at  five,  he  goes  away  quite  content,  though  he 
leaves  a  most  dangerous  enemy  behind  him,  not  only 
to  himself,  but  one  who  will  become  an  enemy  to  Estelle. 

For  shortly  into  Eugenia's  heart  enters  a  mean  envy, 
as  she  sees  Da  Messina's  favorite,  though  taking  her 
studies,  living  with  the  luxury  of  a  lady ;  while  she,  who 
but  yesterday  had  sported  a  spurious  title,  after  toiling 
at  the  monotonous  exercises  of  the  dance  enforced  upon 
her  unremittingly  by  a  stern  taskmistress,  lives  in  a  little 
garret-room,  and  fares  no  better  than  any  of  the  other 
dancing-girls  of  Madre  Vicenza. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  WHISPER  IN  THE  OPERA  BOX. 

Of  this  there  is  almost  immediate  evidence,  though 
Da  Messina  does  not  detect  it.  When  he  calls,  in  the 
afternoon,  Estelle,  after  greeting  him  very  sweetly,  im- 


224  ADRIENNE  »E  PORTALIS. 

mediately  asks  a  favor :  "  Can't  you  take  me  to  the  opera 
to-night  ?  I — I  have  scarce  been  out  of  the  house  since 
I  came  here." 

"  Certainly !  "  he  answers.  Then,  remembering  the 
bill,  he  queries,  a  tinge  of  embarrassment  upon  his. 
face :  "  You  know  who  sings  ?  " 

"  Certainly — the  beautiful  Olinska !  That's  one  of  the 
reasons  that  I  want  to  go ;  I — I  would  like  to  see  her! " 

"  Very  well,"  he  says,  pleasantly ;  "  I  will  take  you. 
Be  dressed  and  ready.  I  will  have  a  box  for  you,  and 
will  call  at  a  quarter  to  seven." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much  !  "  Then  she  says,  archly  : 
"  In  return,  may  I  offer  you  a  cigar?  I'll  darken  the 
rooms;  I'll  close  the  doors;  I'll  plug  the  keyholes! 
Though  after  you  have  gone  I  must  ventilate.  I  was  a 
little  careless  last  evening,  and  this  morning,  when 
Mother  Paola  came  in,  she  sniffed  about  suspiciously ; 
and  then  said,  very  savagely :  '  French  girl,  do  you 
smoke  accursed  Austrian  cigarettes  ?  '  '  No/  I  stam- 
mered ;  '  but  perhaps  Pergolese  may  have  lit  a  cigar.' 
At  this  she  cried :  '  Basta,  rogue,  don't  dare  accuse  that 
patriot ! '  with  such  an  awful  snort  of  unbelief  that  I 
had  to  run  into  my  bedroom  to  avoid  laughing  in  her 
horrified  face." 

It  does  not  take  much  cajoling  to  induce  Carlo  to 
smoke  a  cigar,  for  which  he  has  longed  all  day ;  and, 
soon  after,  he  goes  away  to  make  arrangements  for  his 
sweetheart's  pleasure. 

So,  quite  shortly,  comes  to  Estelle  a  box  of  evening 
gloves  and  a  great  bouquet ;  and  following  these,  at 
the  appointed  time,  Pergolese,  to  take  his  affianced  to 
the  opera. 

Dressed  in  the  elaborate  evening  costume  of  the  pe- 
riod, with  high,  white  silk  stock;  embossed  velvet  vest ; 
dress-coat  with  immense  bouffant  tails;  and  dark 
trousers,  fitting  tightly  about  his  well-shaped  legs 
and  strapped  down  over  patent-leather  pumps,  and 
silken  stockings,  her  lover,  as  Estelle  enters  her  parlor 
to  greet  him,  looks  to  her  very  much  like  a  god. 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  225 

"  You  don't  object,"  she  murmurs,  quite  bashfully, 
poking  out  a  pretty  foot  in  white,  satin  slipper  from 
under  her  white,  silk  jupe.  "  I  lengthened  this  a  little." 
Then  her  eyes  blaze,  and  she  says,  passionately :  "  When 
I  gaze  at  her,  I  want  to  feel  I  am  a  woman !  " 

Pergolese  knows  quite  well  to  whom  Estelle  refers, 
but  he  has  judgment  to  only  reply  to  her  question. 

"  Humph !  Yes,"  he  says,  meditatively,  "  the  Aus- 
trian officials  will  probably  not  notice  that  my  appren- 
tice of  sixteen  has  grown  two  years  older  in  a  day ;  but 
please  increase  your  age  very  gradually."  Then  his 
eyes  light  up  at  his  affianced's  beauty,  for  she  looks 
more  engaging  in  her  maturity  than  in  her  childish- 
ness, the  simple,  white  frock,  cut  for  evening  wear, 
giving  him  a  view  of  exquisite  womanhood  in  the  del- 
icately rounded  bust  and  shapely  arms. 

"  As  I  thought  you  would  like  to  see  the  audience  at 
La  Scala  thoroughly,  it  being  the  biggest  theater  in 
Italy,  and  knowing  you  brought  no  such  thing  from 
France,  permit  me !  "  he  says,  and,  with  lover's  eager- 
ness, tenders  to  his  affianced  a  magnificent  opera-glass, 
of  white  ivory,  mounted  with  gold. 

"  For  me  ?  Oh,  Carlo  mio !  How  beautiful !  How 
exquisite !  " 

Then,  Mother  Paola  coming  in,  Estelle  cries  to  her : 
"  Look  at  my  handsome  present !  " 

And,  as  they  leave,  the  old  woman,  going  up-stairs, 
tells  of  the  generosity  of  Pergolese  to  his  bound-girl. 
This  brings  an  awful  rage  to  the  heart  of  Eugenia,  who 
reclines,  fatigued  with  the  first  exercise  Vicenza  has  ex- 
acted from  her ;  though  her  mistress,  being  a  wise  in- 
structress, has  put  the  travail  of  the  dance  quite  lightly 
upon  the  delicate  limbs  of  her  new  pupil. 

Lying  upon  her  little  cot  in  the  small  room  that  has 
been  assigned  to  her,  la  contessa  sighs  bitterly,  as  she 
listens  to  the  departing  wheels  that  indicate  Estelle  is 
being  borne  away  to  a  scene  of  gayety  such  as  Madame 
Intrigante  adores ;  but,  a  moment  after,  jeers,  as  mer- 
rily as  aching  limbs  will  let  her ;  "  That  was  my  sug- 


226  ADRIfcNNfi  DE  PORTALIS. 

gestion  that  Estelle  should  see  the  beauty  of  her  rival ! 
Dissension  between  her  and  her  lover  is  my  great  hope ; 
so  that  some  day,  in  her  jealous  torture,  this  pampered 
pet  may  cry  out  something  to  me  from  the  depths  of  a 
wounded  heart  that  shall  give  me  freedom  from  the  ac- 
cursed Vicenza  and  deliverance  from  Bolza's  wrath." 

But  utterly  unaware  of  this,  Estelle,  this  evening,  is 
quite  content  in  Pergolese's  present  attention;  and 
emits  a  low,  excited,  happy  cry,  as  she  gazes  from  out 
the  curtains  of  a  second-tier  box  upon  La  Scala  in  its 
glory ;  and  quite  radiantly  listens  to  the  strains  of  Bel- 
lini's overture,  though  Pergolese  has  a  constrained  and 
anxious  brow. 

As  he  has  assisted  his  ward  from  the  carriage,  the 
tenor,  who  was  till  yesterday  Milan's  delight,  has  no- 
ticed a  strange  coldness  in  the  greeting  of  the  hackmen, 
who  were  wont,  upon  his  former  returns,  to  doff  their 
hats  to  him,  as  if  he  were  a  god  revisiting  this  earth. 

Upon  the  staircase  he  has  seen  familiar  faces  turned 
from  his,  and  once  he  has  thought  a  lady's  voice  has 
whispered,  sadly :  "  He  is  an  Austrian  tenor  now." 

But  Estelle,  thinking  his  gloom  is  because  he  fears 
she  will  be  disturbed  by  her  approaching  sight  of  his 
former  mistress,  determines  her  manner  shall  not  add 
to  it;  and  gazes  upon  him  with  trustful  eyes,  as  he 
points  out  persons  of  distinction  entering  the  boxes,  that 
are  now  rapidly  filling. 

"  There  is  il  Comte  Cesaresco,  with  his  countess,  over 
there — true  friends  of  Italy,  both  of  them !  And  that 
gentleman  just  entering  the  first-tier  box  is  my  friend 
Gabrio  Casati !  "  he  remarks.  "  Look !  That  dashing 
fellow — the  one  handing  her  fan  to  the  lady  in  blue 
satin  and  silver  gauze — is  young  Luciano  Manara,  as 
gallant  as  a  knight  of  old !  And  those  are  our  bour- 
geoise  in  the  pit.  But " — he  glances  toward  the  gal- 
lery— "  those  fellows  up  there,  every  man  and  boy  of 
them,  are  judges  of  music ;  and  every  one  of  them  Per- 
golese's friend !  "  though  there  seems  a  tinge  of  doubt 
in  Da  Messina's  voice,  as  he  proclaims  this  last. 


ADRTENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

Just  here  a  strange  hush  falls  upon  the  chattering 
audience. 

"  The  Governor  of  Lombardy !  "  explains  Carlo,  as 
into  the  Imperial  box  steps  stout,  old  Marshal  Radetzky, 
followed  by  a  brilliant  staff.  "  Observe  the  ladies  are 
all  turning  their  heads  away,  to  show  they  do  not  like 
him.  Tis  a  great  mistake,  in  which  too  many  of  us  in- 
dulge, to  be  always  snarling  at  that  stalwart  watch- 
dog." 

But  the  stern,  old  Austrian  General,  who  carries  his 
white  head  as  high  as,  when  a  boy,  he  fought  the  Turks, 
or  when,  as  a  man,  he  battled  with  Napoleon,  is  deter- 
mined to  act  as  if  there  is  no  sedition  in  this  turbulent 
town ;  and  sits  calmly  gazing  on  the  audience,  though 
he  very  well  knows  there  is  a  volcano  beneath  him; 
and,  being  a  wise  chieftain,  has  a  troop  of  cavalry 
about  his  carriage  outside,  and  two  regiments  of  in- 
fantry in  nearby  barracks,  ready  to  march  at  the  word ; 
and  he  and  each  officer  of  his  staff,  besides  their  dress 
swords,  carry,  concealed,  two  service  pistols,  primed 
and  loaded. 

But,  after  one  glance  at  the  Governor  of  Lombardy, 
Estelle  nervously  turns  her  opera-glass  upon  the  stage ; 
for  the  curtain  is  going  up,  showing  the  moon  rising 
upon  the  sacred  wood  of  the  Druids. 

Da  Messina  smiles,  as  he  notices  her  delight  in  the 
music  and  performance;  and  sits,  gazing  with  tender 
eyes  upon  his  betrothed. 

Suddenly  his  sweetheart  gives  a  start,  and  her  white 
hand  darts  to  her  heart,  as  if  to  stay  its  fluttering. 
Glancing  toward  the  stage,  Pergolese  knows  that  Es- 
telle, with  her  eyes  on  Norma,  has  seen  a  loveliness 
that  affrights  her. 

And  she  might  well  have  cause  for  fear ! 

For  Olinska,  draped  in  the  white  robes  of  the  virgin 
priestess  of  that  barbaric  Druid  faith,  whose  sacrifice 
for  tainted  vows  was  death,  as  she  walks  under  the  oaks 
of  the  sacred  grove,  her  form  outlined  in  its  perfect  ma- 
turity of  graceful  voluptuousness,  is  at  her  very  zenith, 


228  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTAL1S. 

and  has  a  loveliness  potent  enough  to  charm  the  heart 
of  any  man;  though  Pergolese,  as  he  sits  behind  his 
betrothed's  gleaming  shoulders,  comparing  the  diva's 
more  meretricious  charms  to  the  beauties  of  the  sweet 
girl  whose  heart  he  knows  beats  for  him,  wonders  how 
the  prima  donna  had  ever  been  to  him  even  a  passing 
fancy.  But  men  change  their  minds,  and  Da  Messina 
is  like  the  rest  of  them. 

Then  Norma,  having  cut  with  sacrificial  knife  the 
sacred  mistletoe,  Estelle  for  the  moment  forgets  all  else 
save  that  unearthly,  mystic  beauty  peculiar  to  the 
"  Casta  Diva."  Accentuated  by  that  weird,  yet  en- 
chanting, chorus  of  DruiJ  priests  and  virgins,  it  en- 
thralls her,  as  this  divine  melody  will  any  being  with 
ears  to  hear  it. 

But,  a  few  moments  after,  when  Olinska  sings  "Ah 
Bella,  a  Me  Ritorna!"  it  seems  to  Da  Messina's  be- 
trothed as  if  this  were  a  cry  from  his  mistress  for 
Pergolese  to  return  to  her  arms ;  and,  as  the  beautiful 
prima  donna  leaves  the  stage,  Estelle,  with  a  scarce- 
breathed,  pathetic  sigh,  puts  down  her  opera-glass. 

As  Da  Messina  notices  that  the  ivory,  against  which 
his  sweetheart's  fair  eyes  have  been  placed,  is  wet  with 
her  tears,  he  turns  his  head  away  in  shame  and  self- 
abasement.  Ah,  if  men  with  their  first,  pure  love  could 
wipe  out  the  reckless  passions  of  their  immaturity,  how 
happy  would  many  a  bridegroom  be! 

Then  the  act  goes  on,  and  to  Adalgisa,  the  new  love 
of  the  Pollio,  Roman  proconsul,  Estelle  seems  to  give 
her  sympathy,  so  much  that,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
"  Vieni  in  Roma,"  as  if  to  encourage  Norma's  rival,  she 
tosses,  during  the  applause,  her  bouquet  to  the  lady  who 
sings  the  part. 

Soon  after,  the  curtain  having  gone  down  on  the  act, 
she  hears,  just  behind  her,  a  genial  voice :  "  Carlo,  mein 
lieber  frennd,  I  obtained  leave  of  absence  from  my  glo- 
rious uncle,  and  of  course  at  once  came  to  visit  you." 
Turning  to  Estelle,  the  Austrian  officer  says,  cor- 
dially :  "  I  hope  this  evening  has  been  a  pleasant  one  to 


ADRTENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  22Q 

you,  Mademoiselle !  I  thank  Pergolese  for  bringing 
you  to  greet  such  a  beautiful  artiste,"  and  he  breaks 
forth  in  wild  and  extravagant  praise  of  Olinska.  "  Thou 
hast  no  bouquet  to  throw  to  her,''  he  says.  "  Here  is 
another  one,  to  keep  for  your  own  sake ;  and  this  one,  to 
toss  la  diva,  when  she  makes  the  house  wild  at  the 
beauty  of  her  voice.  Some  day,"  he  continues,  in  Ger- 
man frankness,  ''  I  hope  you  will  sing  as  well  as  she. 
But  it  is  not  her  face,  it  is  her  charm,  her  eyes,  her  lips, 
her  hair,  that  make  la  belle  Sophie  the  most  admired 
woman  on  the  stage !  " 

At  praise  of  one  she  fears,  Estelle's  eyes  grow 
troubled,  and  her  pretty  figure  restless.  Her  little 
foot  is  tapping  the  cushion  under  it  quite  viciously. 

Remarking  her  embarrassment,  and  ashamed  of  being 
indirectly  its  cause,  Da  Messina  about  this  time,  under 
plea  of  saying  a  few  words  to  old-time  friends,  unwisely 
goes  away. 

For  no  sooner  has  he  stepped  from  the  box  than 
Franz  whispers :  "  Oh,  how  I  envy  the  grand  Pergo- 
lese! They  say  that  la  diva  once  loved  him.  Must 
he  not  have  been  happy,  my  little  lady  ?  " 

As  he  says  this,  he  wonders  that  Estelle  shades  her 
face  from  his  observation  by  her  fan,  and  why  her 
eyes  flash  like  stars  as  she,  after  a  moment,  remarks, 
in  attempted  nonchalance :  "  How  old  is  your  great 
uncle — that  stalwart  warrior  sitting  over  there  ?  "  She 
waves  her  fan  toward  the  Imperial  box. 

"  Eighty-three  last  birthday." 

"  I — I  should  think  he  would  be  too  aged  for  active 
service !  " 

"  Ach  Gott!"  cries  the  captain,  enthusiastically. 
"  Some  men  are  never  too  old  to  fight !  "  To  this  he 
adds:  "  The  Uncle  Johann  Wenzel  rides  a  horse  like  a 
rittmaster,  and  loves  the  ladies — God  bless  him ! — as  if 
he  were  a  court  page." 

"  Then  I  should  think  he  must  have  felt  embarrassed 
when  all  the  ladies  this  evening  turned  their  heads  away 


23O  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

as  he  came  in,"  says  Estelle,  ma'iing,  in  her  confusion, 
a  tactless  remark. 

"  Mein  Himmel!"  guffaws  Franz.  "  One  who  has 
confronted  the  faces  of  armed  men  by  the  million  will 
scarcely  be  afraid  of  women's  backs! "  And  the  Aus- 
trian, quite  delighted  at  his  own  wit,  goes  babbling  on, 
and  in  his  German  frankness  embarrasses  Estelle,  whom 
he  still  considers  as  a  child.  "  We  have  grown  older, 
eh  ?  "  he  smiles,  glancing  at  her  lengthened  skirt.  "  This 
climate  of  Italy  is  quite  wonderful.  It  changes  child- 
hood into  girlhood  in  a  day." 

"  Oh,  you  refer  to  my  more  mature  costume?"  she 
answers,  growing  red.  "  That  is  a  reward  for  my  dili- 
gence in  music.  Come,  some  afternoon,  and  hear  me 
sing!" 

"  With  pleasure,"  answers  the  captain,  briskly.  "  But 
the  curtain  is  rising.  Still,  it  is  only  a  short  ballet  be- 
tween the  acts ;  so  we  will  soon  hear  the  divine  Olinska 
again.  Please  tell  Carlo  that  I  am  anxious  for  him 
to  set  the  exact  day  on  which  he  entertains — but  that  is 
a  matter  not,  perhaps,  best  for  young  and  innocent  ears ! 
Gnadiges  fraulein,  I  make  my  adieu !  " 

He  kisses  Estelle's  gloved  fingers,  and  is  passing  out 
of  the  box,  when,  in  the  anteroom,  he  chances  to  en- 
counter Pergolese.  After  a  few  whispered  words,  Da 
Messina's  sweetheart  hears  the  Austrian's  strident  tones : 
"  Then  it  is  Monday  evening !  Madame  Gerome  has 
also  accepted,  you  say  ?  God  be  praised !  I  shall  soon 
meet  the  most  beautiful  woman  on  the  stage"!  Adieu, 
mein  lieber  freund! " 

And  Radetzky  goes  away,  not  guessing  what  an  un- 
fortunate pebble  he  has  tossed  into  Pergolese's  fountain 
of  love ;  for,  though  he  is  very  well  aware  that  Da  Mes- 
sina has  an  affectionate  regard  for  his  bound-girl,  to 
whom  he  permits  liberties  quite  uncommon  for  her  sta- 
tion, the  idea  that  Estelle  should  be  the  affianced  of  her 
maestro  never  enters  the  Austrian's  head. 

This  speech  in  the  anteroom,  which  is  immediately 
coupled  in  Estelle's  bright  mind  with  Franz's  former  re- 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  2$ I 

mark  in  the  box,  has  such  an  effect  upon  her  that,  when 
Pergolese  steps  in  to  her,  she  says,  affecting  languor  to 
conceal  grief :  "  If  yow  don't  mind,  would  you  please 
take  me  home.  I  worked  so  hard  at  my  music  to-day  that 
I  find  myself  fatigued.  Of  course,  you  can  come  back 
afterward  to  hear  Olinska  sing,"  she  adds. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replies.     "  I  will  have  half  an  hour 

with  you,  and  also  a "      Here  he  claps  his  teeth 

together  so  sharply  that,  despite  her  misery,  Estelle 
laughs  slightly,  as  he  continues,  bitterly :  "  But  I  don't 
return  to  my  friends  at  La  Scala  to-night !  " 

And  Pergolese  is  very  well  pleased  not  to  return. 
The  shoulders  of  his  friends  have  been  too  cold  for  him. 
For  those  who  did  not  believe  he  was  familiar  with  the 
Austrian  officer,  have  seen  Radetzky  cordially  welcomed 
this  evening  in  his  box ;  and  the  ostracism  they  extended 
to  their  white-coated  enemies  is  now  extended  to  the 
tenor,  who,  up  to  this  time,  had  been  a  little  god  in 
artistic  Milan. 

True,  Casati  has  welcomed  him  to  his  box  most  cor- 
dially, and  his  grip  has  been  that  of  a  man  facing  death 
with  him ;  and  Manara's  greeting  has  been  more  cor- 
dial even  than  it  had  been  before.  But  these  men  know 
what  the  others  do  not  know.  They  know  that  Da  Mes- 
sina is  risking  his  life  for  their  city ;  though  Luciano, 
taking  Pergolese  aside,  whispers  to  him,  excitedly :  "  My 
dear  boy,  don't  you  think  you  are  giving  up  too  much 
for  your  friendship  for  this  Radetzky,  who  may  be  a 
very  good  fellow,  but,  of  course,  must  be  at  dagger's 
point  with  you  in  a  few  days."  This  last  is  scarce 
breathed  into  Da  Messina's  very  ear. 

"  No,"  replies  Carlo,  with  the  same  guarded  tone ;  "  I 
think  we  keep  our  enemies  too  much  at  a  distance. 
Some  day  we  may  need  a  friend  in  the  Austrian  camp." 

"  And  some  day  you  hope  to  make  traitor  of  Ra- 
detzky, the  nephew  of  the  Marshal?  Carlo,  'tis  a 
maxim  that  all  tenors  are  maniacs ;  but  I  had  made  you 
the  exception  to  the  rule." 


232  ADRIBNNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  You  can  do  that  still,"  returns  Pergolese ;  and  with 
this  enigma  leaves  his  friend. 

But  these  things  make  Da  Messina  and  his  ward 
quite  silent,  as  they  drive  back  to  the  Via  Oriani,  where, 
being  admitted  by  the  sleepy  doorkeeper  into  the  court- 
yard, they  pass  up  the  big  stairs  and  enter  Estelle's 
pretty  parlor. 

Here,  as  she  turns  up  the  lamp,  a  little  cry  issues 
from  her  lips ;  for  on  the  table,  greeting  her  eyes,  stands 
a  plain,  steel  box,  quite  heavy  and  very  strong,  and 
secured  by  a  Bramah  lock,  which  in  that  day  was  con- 
sidered exceedingly  safe  ai;d  intricate. 

"  Look,  Carlo!  Something  for  me?  But  I  find  no 
key  to  it !  " 

"  Here  is  the  open  sesame,"  answers  Da  Messina,  and 
unlocks  the  box.  "  The  upper  portion,"  he  explains, 
"  is  for  any  trinkets  that  you  value — that  opera-glass, 
your  fan,  the  ring  you  wear  about  your  sweet  neck. 
And  this  lower  one  " — he  touches  a  spring,  and,  as  it 
flies  open,  she  gazes  at  him,  surprised  for  it  is  full  of 
French  gold.  "  In  it,"  he  says,  "  are  ten  thousand 
francs  for  you  to  use  at  time  of  need,  for  God  knows 
what  awful  things  may  come  upon  this  city  within  the 
next  few  days!  No — no!  Don't  thank  me!  It  is 
but  a  portion  of  thy  own."  Then,  taking  her  in  his 
arms,  he  whispers,  tenderly :  "  If  aught  happens  to 
me " 

"  No,  no — my  God,  don't  think  of  that !  " 

"  If  anything  happens  to  me,  go  to  Captain  Radetzky, 
for  if  I  am  down,  the  Austrians  will  probably  be  domi- 
nant. He  has  a  noble  heart,  and  will  do  a  great  deal  for 
my  sake.  Tell  him  what  thou  wert  to  me." 

"  Wert  to  you !  Misericorde,  you  mean  if  you 

are "  With  a  low  cry,  she  puts  her  arms  about 

his  neck. 

But  he,  soothing  her  in  the  way  she  loves,  after  a 
moment  says,  lightly:  "  Pestel  Tears  are  making 
your  dear  eyes  red,  my  darling.  This  advice  is  only 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  233 

for  the  very  worst,  which  shall  not  come  if  Da  Mes- 
sina can  prevent  it !  " 

And  Estelle,  having  great  faith  in  her  affianced's 
quickness  of  design  and  personal  bravery,  and  the  city 
to  her  seeming,  notwithstanding  his  words,  quite  peace- 
ful, regains  her  spirits,  and  says,  archly :  "  But  what 
am  I  to  do  with  this?  It  is  too  heavy  for  my  hands 
to  carry,  even  into  the  next  room." 

"  Oh,  then  I'll  help  you  to  put  it  away.  You  have 
several  closets  in  your  chamber  ?  " 

"  Yes — two  entirely  unused." 

"  Only  keep  careful  guard  of  this,"  he  adds,  as  he 
relocks  the  strong-box.  Taking  the  key,  which  is  at- 
tached to  a  slight,  golden  chain,  he  places  the  latter 
tenderly  about  her  neck,  and  she  looks  so  sweetly  at 
him  she  gets  a  kiss. 

Whereupon  the  two,  half  laughing,  pick  up  the  box 
and  carry  it  quite  briskly  into  Estelle's  chamber.  Here, 
turning  up  the  lamp,  Carlo  looks  upon  three  closets,  and 
says:  "Where?" 

"  That  one  to  the  left,"  she  replies ;  and,  opening  it, 
they  deposit  therein  Estelle's  treasure-box. 

"  Now,  for  this  you  must  have  at  least  three  cigars," 
she  whispers ;  and,  going  to  her  trunk,  brings  out  the 
solace  for  which  Da  Messina  has  probably  been  longing. 
And  she  plugging  the  keyholes,  and  looking  carefully 
to  the  windows,  he  assents,  with  a  contented  sigh. 
Then  as  he  sits  in  smoker's  paradise  before  her,  she, 
taking  chair  near  him,  says :  "  Thank  you  so  much  for 
this !  I  have  felt  so  helpless  at  times  without  a  gold 
piece  in  my  pocket.  Trust  me ;  I  will  use  them  as  you 
direct." 

Her  gratitude  is  unfortunate,  for  now  Estelle  does 
not  like  to  mention  the  strange  suspicion  Franz's  words 
have  brought  to  her;  for  Da  Messina  is  a  man  who 
meets  things  very  firmly  and  very  straightly,  and  his 
explanation  would  probably  forever  take  Olinska  out  of 
his  sweetheart's  jealous  heart. 

.Yet  even  as  she  looks  at  him  tliis  seems  to  go  from 


234  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

her.  "  This  man  has  been  so  considerate,  so  kind ! 
Besides,  when  he  loved  her,"  she  reflects,  "  he  had  not 
yet  seen  me !  He  threw  her  picture  into  the  fire ;  and 
now,  even  if  Franz's  words  are  true,  he  is  going  to  in- 
troduce this  Austrian  gallant,  who  seems  to  worship  her, 
to  la  belle  Sophie.  That  is  not  the  act  of  a  man  still 
passionate  for  Olinska !  " 

So,  after  a  little,  he  bids  her  a  reluctant  good-by,  and 
goes  home  through  the  streets  that  are  growing  silent. 

But  as  he  walks,  Pergolese  utters  these  curious 
words :  "  The  fools  of  my  native  city  berate  me  for  a 
friendship  that  some  day,  perhaps,  will  give  me  infor- 
mation that  may  be  vital  to  our  cause !  And  yet,"  he 
mutters,  with  an  awful  sigh,  "  Zerconi  fears  they  will 
hiss  and  hoot  me  off  La  Scala's  stage  next  Sunday 
night." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

MADAME   IAGO. 

As  Da  Messina  leaves  Estelle,  his  sweetheart,  hum- 
ming a  merry  air,  opens  the  windows  of  her  parlor  to 
remove  unpatriotic  fumes;  then  trips  blithely  into  her 
chamber,  to  emit  a  low,  startled  cry. 

"  Don't  fear  me,  dear  one !  "  whispers  the  soft  voice 
of  Eugenia. 

"  You  here?  Oh,  you  came  down  to  chat  with  me? 
How  nice  of  you  ! "  babbles  the  embryo  prima  donna,  her 
voice  again  growing  clear  and  silvery  after  her  little 
fright. 

"  Yes ;  I  tnought  you  might  wish  my  service,"  re- 
plies la  contessa,  as  she  lights  the  lamp.  "  From  Signer 
da  Messina's  words,  this  morning,  I  presume  that  I  am 
to  act  as  your  maid,  if  you  demand." 

"  No,  no !  "  cries  the  younger  lady,  in  indignant  sym- 
pathy. "  You  are  my  confpanion,  my  friend !  We  are 
both  Pergolese's  bound-girls !  " 

But  the  intrigante  will  not  give  "Estelle  the  slightest 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  2^5 

cause  for  being  jealous  of  her;  and  answers,  craftily : 
"  Oh,  I  am  old  Vicenza's  apprentice !  Dio  mio,  as  I  did 
my  toe  exercises  before  that  dragon,  I.  felt  by  every 
muscle  in  me  that  I  was  indeed  her  girl.  But  I  came 
down  to  chat  with  you,  to  keep  you  from  being  lonely." 
In  this  last  Bolza's  agent  annunciates  a  deliberate  lie. 

Some  two  hours  before  she  had  taken  advantage  of 
Madre  Paola  being  in  bed,  and  Josepha  at  La  Scala, 
with  their  few  dancing-girls,  who  took  part  in  the  ballet, 
to  slip  down  quietly  and  tremblingly  into  Estelle's  cham- 
ber, and  examine  that  young  lady's  trunk,  hoping  to 
find  in  it  some  clew  that  would  aid  her  to  Da  Messina's 
undoing. 

Surprised  by  Estelle's  return,  long  before  the  opera 
ended,  Eugenia  had  only  time  to  slip  into  one  of  the . 
closets  of  the  bedroom  before  Pergolese  and  his  sweet- 
heart entered  the  chamber,  bearing  the  steel  box.  By 
great  good  fortune,  Estelle  had  selected  another  closet  to 
the  one  occupied  by  the  cowering  Eugenia,  whose  knees 
knocked  together  in  fear  of  being  discovered  in  a  new 
transgression  by  her  padrone. 

"  But  we  didn't  see  you  when  we  came  in  here,  car- 
rying my  strong-box,"  remarks  Estelle,  who  is  not  over- 
pleased,  fearing  that  Eugenia  may  have  overheard  a 
love  scene.  Opening  her  eyes,  she  asks :  "  Where 
could  you  have  been  ?  " 

"  In  that  closet,"  replies  la  contessa,  pointing.  "  I 
did  not  dare  come  out.  I  feared  Signer  da  Messina. 
He  was  so  stern  to  me  to-day." 

"  Pish !  "  laughs  the  other.  "  Pergolese  is  no  ogre ! 
But  stay  down  with  me  to-night.  I  am  lonely  here, 
Eugenia ;  I  am  really  frightened.  I  have  lots  of  room 
for  you."  She  points  to  the  big,  ample,  inviting  bed. 

But  the  other  hesitates,  whispering :  "  Madre  Vi- 
cenza !  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  arrange  that  matter  for  you !  You  know, 
you  are  to  come  to  me  whenever  I  ask !  "  cries  the  girl. 

"  Well,  of  course,  if  you  want  it ;  you  know  I've  got 
to  obey  you,"  returns  la  contessa,  quite  happy  at  the 


236  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

luxury  before  her;  for  this  big  bed,  with  its  dainty 
sheets  and  soft,  lace-edged  pillows,  is  in  great  contrast 
to  the  miserable  cot  she  occupies  up-stairs. 

So  the  two,  laughingly  and  pleasantly,  help  each 
other  to  undress ;  and  both  getting  into  the  white  robes 
of  night,  one  seems  as  graceful  as  a  fairy,  the  other  like 
a  drooping  goddess,  Eugenia  being  still  languid  from 
the  exercise  of  the  dance,  as  enforced  by  Vicenza ;  and 
after  a  little  they  go  quite  happily  to  bed. 

Here,  with  their  heads  on  neighboring  pillows  and 
their  tresses  mingling,  Estelle  naturally  speaks  of  the 
man  she  thinks  about,  giving  a  short  description  of  her 
visit,  under  Da  Messina's  escort,  to  the  opera;  and  in 
return  receives  a  dexterous  pin  prick  from  Eugenia. 

"A  fede! "  laughs  Madame  Intrigante,  her  lips  quite 
near  to  the  ear  of  the  sweet  girl  she  is  tormenting. 
"  When  Pergolese  sat  in  that  box,  looking  at  you  one 
minute  and  Olinska  the  next,  he  must  have  felt  some- 
thing like  the  Pollio  of  the  opera — divided  'twixt  the 
old  love  and  the  new." 

As  answer  she  receives  a  more  complete  understand- 
ing of  Estelle's  character  than  had  come  to  her  before. 
For  a  face,  lighted  by  two  eyes  that,  in  the  darkness  of 
the  room,  seem  balls  of  fire,  rises  from  the  pillow  be- 
fore her;  her  tender  arm  is  clutched  in  such  frantic 
fury  that  Eugenia  winces ;  a  voice,  hoarse  with  rage, 
says :  "  I  command  you — no  further  slur  upon  his  love 
for  me!" 

"  But  I  can  speak  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  tell  you  no !  Remember  your  master's 
instructions !  Shall  I  have  to  treat  you  as  thy  pa- 
drona?" 

"  Of  course — treat  me  as  badly  as  the  rest !  "  sighs  la 
contessa;  adding,  in  crafty  humility:  "  If  I  displease 
you,  you  know  you  have  but  to  speak  to  that  accursed 
Vicenza,  and  I  shall  suffer !  "  then  sobs  :  "  You,  whom  I 
thought  my — my  friend !  "  And  thus  this  schemer  wins 
a  battle,  by  her  very  helplessness,  from  a  tender  and 
noble  heart. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  237 

"  I — I  am  still  your  friend,"  murmurs  Estelle,  whose 
generous  soul  reproaches  her  for  having  said  sharp 
words  to  one  who  dare  not  reply  to  them.  "  Only, 
please — please  do  not  speak  so  to  me !  You — you  can 
not  guess  how  you  wound  me."  Then  she  cries :  "  I 
know  he  loves  me !  Look  at  the  beautiful  presents  he 
gave  me  to-day !  "  She  springs  out  of  the  bed,  and 
turning  up  the  lamp,  exhibits  to  the  envious  eyes  of 
this  female  lago  the  exquisite  gifts  her  betrothed  had 
lavished  on  her.  "  Look  at  them !  Do  they  not  prove 
my  Carlo's  love  ?  " 

"  Dio,  they  are  beautiful !  "  assents  the  contessa,  in- 
specting the  really  valuable  presents  Estelle  puts  fran- 
tically in  her  hands.  Then,  with  fiendish  subtlety,  she 
makes  these  very  gifts  of  ardent  lover  nearly  break  his 
affianced's  heart.  She  looks  at  the  baubles  closely,  and 
remarks :  "  This  fan  is  from  Fossini,  62  Rue  Richelieu, 
Paris ;  and  this  opera-glass,  a  magnificent  Jumelle,  from 
Chevallier,  15  Place  du  Pont  Neuf,  Paris.  And  Da 
Messina  only  knew  you  after  leaving  Paris  ?  " 

For  this  information  had  drifted  to  Eugenia  from 
Estelle's  careless  words  during  the  journey. 

"  These  were  not  purchased  in  Milan,  but  in  Paris — 
and  before  he  met  you !  "  she  continues.  "  Oh,  you 
are,  my  child,  receiving  the  presents  intended  for  an- 
other! 'Twas  always  said  Pergolese  was  very  gen- 
erous to  Olinska." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  if  I  thought  that !  "  Estelle's  white  arm 
is  upraised,  and  she  would  dash  the  opera-glass  and 
fan  upon  the  floor,  and  dance  upon  them  with  her 
pretty  feet. 

But  Eugenia,  catching  her  hand,  dissents :  "  I  may 
be  mistaken.  They  may  have  been  purchased  in 
Milan.  Sometimes  such  goods  are  brought  from  Paris 
here ;  but  not  very  often,  for  the  duty  on  them  is  too 
high.  You  are  more  apt  to  meet  the  Viennese  manu- 
facture in  this  town.  But  come  to  bed,  and  for  God's 
sake  don't  cry !  I  feel  it  a  reproach  upon  my  foolish 
tongue."  For  la  contessa  will  not  have  Estelle  destroy 


238  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Carlo's  gifts.  "  If  he  guessed  I  chatted  to  his  pet  in 
this  way,  I'd  never  open  lip  to  her  again,"  she  thinks. 

Having  said  as  much  on  the  subject  of  Pergolese  as, 
for  the  moment,  she  dares,  Eugenia,  as  she  renestles 
herself  in  the  soft  bed,  now  gains  Estelle's  sympathy  by 
adding :  "  And  in  return,  please — please  let  me  go  to 
sleep!  Maladetto,  if  you  had,  like  me,  to  get  Up  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  commence  the  labors  of 
a  ballerina,  you  would  want  to  rest !  " 

"  Oh,  how  cruel !  I  have  been  keeping  you  awake, 
and  you  so  fatigued.  Forgive  me,  dear !  "  entreats 
Estelle. 

"  Of  course  I  do !  I — I  love  you !  "  yawns  Eu- 
genia. 

Then  the  snake,  turning  on  her  pillow,  goes  to  sleep ; 
but  the  dove  lies  restless  and  unhappy.  The  fangs 
have  wounded  her  a  little,  but  the  poison  has  not  yet 
wholly  entered  into  her  veins. 

And  now  the  tremendous  labors  of  the  Milanese  lead- 
ers, arranging  armed  rebellion,  keep  Da  Messina  from 
Estelle,  and  aid  Eugenia's  purpose.  This  next  day  he 
omits  her  music  lesson,  and  only  comes  after  dark. 

As  he  smokes,  she  prattles :  "  Carlo  mio,  can't  I  go 
on  the  stage  and  watch  you  from  the  wings,  at  La 
Scala,  on  Sunday  evening  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answers,  shortly.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  on 
the  stage.  I  will — I  will  get  a  box  for  you,  mia  cara. 
My  man,  Antonelli,  will  sit  in  its  anteroom,  to  look  after 
you." 

"  Can  Eugenia  go  with  me?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  want  her,"  he  replies.  "  In  fact,  you 
had  better  have  a  companion.  Still  " — there  is  a  hesi- 
tation in  his  manner — "  do  you  wish  to  hear  me  very 
much?" 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  she  cries.  "Hear  you!  Why,  my 
beloved,  I  have  been  dreaming  of  it  ever  since  I  saw 
your  name  upon  the  boards ;  thinking  each  day  is  one 
day  nearer  to  my  being  able  to  applaud  with  my  own 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS.  239 

little  hands,  and  throw  a  bouquet — no,  two  or  three — 
to  Pergolese !  " 

"  Then  I — I  will  send  you  a  box,"  he  assents ;  and, 
after  a  short,  but  pleasant,  interview,  leaves  his  sweet- 
heart. 

The  next  day,  Friday,  not  until  the  evening  does 
he  lounge  into  his  ward's  pretty  parlor.  Apparently 
too  tired  to  hear  her  sing  her  exercise,  he  sits,  smoking 
his  cigar,  in  a  gloomy,  meditative  way,  though  gazing 
at  his  betrothed  with  almost  pathetic  tenderness  through 
the  blue  rings  of  vapor. 

"  You  seem  tired,  Carlo  mio,  and  distressed,"  she  re- 
marks, anxiously. 

"  Yes — my  rehearsals,"  he  answers.  For  he  dare  not 
tell  her  of  their  preparations  for  a  struggle  to  the  death 
with  Austria,  some  of  which  he  superintends  himself; 
how  each  forge  and  machine  shop  is  secretly  making 
rude  guns  of  oaken  logs,  bored  out  and  sheathed  with 
steel,  to  take  the  place  of  artillery;  how  they  are 
accumulating  powder,  homemade  and  crude,  con- 
cocted of  such  niter  and  sulphur  as  they  can  quietly 
gather  up ;  and  how  all  these,  being  made  with  a  se- 
crecy begotten  by  the  fear  of  death,  are  infinitely  more 
laborious  than  if  done  in  the  open  light  of  day.  There- 
fore, he  puts  his  sweetheart's  questions  off  with  the  plea 
of  rehearsals  for  his  Sunday  evening  appearance  at  La 
Scala,  and  very  lovingly,  yet  somewhat  abstractedly, 
taking  leave  of  his  betrothed,  goes  away. 

After  he  has  gone,  and  Estelle  has  purged  the  room 
of  suspicious  odor,  she  rings  her  bell,  and  asks,  as  usual, 
that  Eugenia  be  sent  down  to  her. 

A  few  minutes  after,  that  lady  comes  in,  a  con- 
strained expression  on  her  face,  her  blue  eyes  dark- 
ened by  some  hidden  fury,  yet  rather  red  about  their 
lids. 

"  Please  excuse  my  dishabille.  I  was  too  tired,  Es- 
telle, to  dress,"  she  murmurs,  as,  with  a  loose,  white 
wrapper  covering  her  loveliness,  la  contessa  gazes  upon 
Jier  victim,  and  is  pleased  to  note  that  the  pampered  one 


24°  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALfS. 

is  drooping.  "What  is  the  matter,  dear?"  she  jeers. 
"  Has  Pergolese  given  you  but  little  of  his  company 
to-day?" 

"  Yes.  But,  since  you  are  tired,  my  hard-worked 
friend,  let's  go  to  bed  at  once,"  sighs  Da  Messina's 
sweetheart. 

So,  the  exhausted  ballerina  follows  Estelle,  who,  as 
they  disrobe,  eager  to  explain  the  reason  of  her  lover's 
negligence,  continues :  "  You  see,  Carlo  could  only 
come  this  evening ;  and  then  he  scarce  heard  me  sing — 
he  was  so  exhausted,  like  you,  my  pet,  from  rehearsal. 
It's  rehearsal,  rehearsal,  day  after  day !  " 

"  So  you  think  Pergolese's  rehearsals  keep  him  from 
you  ?  "  sneers  la  contessa,  as  she  languidly  kicks  off  the 
slippers  from  her  dainty  feet.  "  Don't  you  know,  my 
little  foolish  one,  that  in  one  rehearsal  this  tenor  will 
recover  his  part;  and  as  for  Olinska,  she  must  have 
sung  those  love  duets  with  him  fifty  times  upon  the 
stage,  and  God  knows  how  many  in  private !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  hint  of  that !  "  pleads  the  tormented  one. 
"  In  mercy,  don't !  "  Then,  confronting  her  tormen- 
tor, she  says,  proudly :  "  Carlo  loves  me,  and  proves 
it!" 

"  By  visiting  you  each  night,  because  your  parlor  is 
the  one  place  in  Milan  he  can  enjoy  a  cigar,  and  still 
be  patriot ;  yet  comes  no  other  time,"  Eugenia  scoffs. 
"Ma  foil  My  poor  child,  doesn't  it  seem  as  if  Per- 
golese came  to  you  simply  for  his  smoke  ?  " 

At  this  devlish  insinuation,  Estelle  gives  a  shudder- 
ing, broken  cry,  and  droops  like  a  wounded  bird.  Then 
suddenly  her  head  rises,  her  eyes  blaze,  indignantly  ;  she 
mutters :  "  If  that's  only  what  he  comes  for,  he  will 
get  no  more  of  them !  "  and  rushes  to  her  trunk  to  throw 
the  smuggled  tit-bits  into  the  fire. 

But  this  brings  overwhelming  terror  to  Eugenia;  for, 
deprived  of  his  luxuries,  Da  Messina  will  surely  dis- 
cover the  reason  of  his  loss.  "  Don't  do  it !  "  she 
begs.  "  He  knew  that  you  had  but  a  hundred.  He 
counts  them  with  a  miser's  count." 


ADRTENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  24! 

"  Why  not  ?  "  says  Estelle,  hoarsely.  "  To  get  these 
for  him  I  risked  imprisonment !  Oh,  'twas  joy  to  see 
him  smoke  each  one!  But  now,  if  I  thought  that 
he  only  came  to  me  for  love  of  them  —  oh  God  of 
Heaven!  —  that  would  be  too  great  a  misery,  too  su- 
preme a  humiliation !  "  And  she  struggles  with  la 
contessa,  who  dare  not  have  them  destroyed. 

"  Mon  Dieu !  I'll  do  with  my  own  what  I  will !  "  she 
says.  "  Obey  me— take  your  hands  off  them !  "  and 
her  eyes  shine  in  their  torture  like  two  stars  of  night. 

Seeing  Estelle's  resolve,  Eugenia  takes  another  method. 
She  suddenly  shudders :  "  My  Heaven,  would  you  get 
me  beaten  ?  " 

"What!     Has  Paola  dared?" 

"  Not  yet ;  but  it  will  come !  Therefore  don't  gain 
me  the  hatred  of  my  padrone.  If  he  knew  he  lost 
through  my  foolish  babbling  the  only  cigars  in  Milan 
a  patriot  can  smoke,  I  should  be  without  his  protec- 
tion from  Vicenza's  severity." 

"  But  Da  Messina,"  cries  Estelle,  "  shall  know  she 
threatens  you!  I'll  write  to  him.  He'll  come  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  No,  no!  Tell  anyone  but  him!  If  Paola  knew  I 
had  appealed  to  him,  she  would  be  angered  more.  Only 
ask  him  a  favor — that  he  will  come  to-morrow  and  see 
me  dance,  and  praise  me  to  Vicenza.  His  indifference 
to  me  makes  her  think  he  doesn't  imagine  I  can  ever 
become  of  value.  Therefore  she  is  cross  to  me.  Just 
get  him  to  praise  me — that's  all.  Please  write  now " 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  that  quick  enough  !  "  cries  Estelle ;  and, 
sitting  down  in  her  night  robe,  writes  a  little  note  to 
her  betrothed.  "  That  will  bring  him !  "  she  says,  as 
she  seals  the  letter. 

"  Did  you  ask  him  to  come  to  see  me  at  once?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  asked  him  to  come  and  see  me.  I  told 
him  I  must  see  him;  I  had  something  I  must  have 
him  admire.  Oh,  that'll  bring  him — though  you  seem 
to  doubt  his  love  for  me.  Then,  when  he  is  here,  I'll 
have  the  matter  so  arranged  that  he  can  not  avoid  you ; 


242  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

for,  in  truth,  sometimes  I  think  he  doesn't  have  much 
interest  in  you,  my  poor  Eugenia." 

And  so,  taking  the  snake  in  her  breast,  the  dove 
soothes  her;  and  they  go  to  sleep  in  each  other's  arms. 

But,  even  as  she  closes  her  eyes,  one  thought  is  para- 
mount in  la  contessa's  brain.  "  Four  days  of  jealousy, 
and  this  woman  has  not  opened  her  lips  to  me!  Six 
days  but  now  remain,  and  then — Bolza !  Dio  mio ! 
My  only  hope  is  in  proving  to  Estelle  that  Da  Messina 
is  not  true.  And  to  do  this,  I  must  have  my  padrona's 
favor,  so  that  she  will  grant  me  one  request." 


CHAPTER   XXL 

THE  POPULACE  CAST  DOWN  THEIR  IDOL. 

Estelle's  epistle  the  next  morning  reaching  Da  Mes- 
sina, he  fondles  it,  and  puts  it  with  the  other  writing  of 
his  love,  and  contrives,  busy  as  he  is,  to  answer  it  in 
person  about  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day,  bringing  with 
him  Franz  Radetzky.  For  in  truth,  outside  of  the 
Central  Committee,  who  know  that  he  is  a  true  patriot. 
Pergolese  has  now  but  few  companions  in  Milan  ex- 
cept the  Austrian  officer,  who  very  well  knowing  what 
this  Italian  is  giving  up  for  his  friendship,  looks  at 
him  quite  tenderly  with  his  honest,  German  eyes. 

"  You  said  a  little  entertainment  that  I  should  see  and 
criticise,"  remarks  Da  Messina ;  "  so  I  brought  Franz 
with  me.  Is  it  a  dramatic  recitation,  or  some  new 
high  note  that  you  have  achieved?" 

"  No ;  I  arranged  it.  It  is  Eugenia !  "  cries  Estelle ; 
and,  getting  Carlo  by  himself  for  a  moment,  she  hastily 
whispers  the  matter  to  him,  adding :  "  La  contessa  is 
being  costumed.  If  you  love  me,  praise  la  contessa's 
dancing ;  otherwise  Vicenza  will  be  harsh  to  her." 

"  Oh,  if  you  ask  me,  I  will  say  Eugenia  is  an  embryo 
Taglioni,"  remarks  Pergolese.  "  Now  that  you  men- 
tion it,  I  haven't  seen  her  since  I  took  her  under  my 
wing.  But  Franz  will  be  the  better  to  applaud.  He 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  243 

»<  jie  most  enthusiastic."  With  this,  he  explains  to  the 
German  officer  who  the  new  ballet-girl  is ;  at  which  the 
other  says :  ''  Ach  Gott,  she  must  be  very  lovely ;  she 
was  very  beautiful  in  clothes !  " 

At  this  suggestion  Da  Messina  laughs,  and  Estelle 
trips  blushingly  ahead  of  the  gentlemen,  as  they  all 
go  up  the  stairway  to  Madre  Vicenza's  salle  de  danse, 
a  big  room,  with  a  waxed,  oaken  floor. 

In  a  corner  is  seated  one  of  Paola's  girls  at  the  piano. 

As  the  gentlemen  seat  themselves,  Estelle  suggests: 
"  I  will  tell  Paola  that  we  are  here,"  and  runs  out  of 
the  room. 

A  minute  01  two  later  she  comes  flying  back,  her  eyes 
big  with  excitement,  and  whispers  to  them :  "  Eugenia 
is  beautiful  as  a  fairy ;  the  dress  Tancredi,  the  costumer 
of  La  Scala,  made  for  her  is  ethereal." 

Even  as  she  speaks,  Franz  utters  a  short  exclamation 
of  delight,  as  Mother  Vicenza  introduces  a  debutante 
whose  cheeks  are  blushing,  and  whose  eyes  diffidently 
seek  the  polished  floor. 

"  She  is  a  little  bashful  in  her  fleshings  and  gauze 
skirts !  "  laughs  the  mattresse  de  ballet,  who  is  leading 
Eugenia  by  one  hand,  the  other  holding  a  long,  white 
wand. 

"  Now,  salute  your  padrone  and  his  friend,"  says 
Paola,  affably.  And  la  ballerina,  with  averted  eyes, 
sweeps  down  till  one  gleaming  knee  just  grazes  the 
floor. 

Then  Madre  Vicenza  waves  her  wand,  and  at  its 
signal  the  debutante  takes  pose,  while  even  Da  Messina, 
who  at  first  had  little  interest,  now  can  not  keep  his  eyes 
from  the  lovely  contessa,  unveiled  for  padrone's  com- 
ment, criticism,  and  inspection. 

The  spirit  uelle  beauty  of  her  eyes  and  face  gives 
lightness  to  the  outlines  of  a  form  which  is  so  symmet- 
rically proportioned  that  it  seems  a  fairy's,  though  its 
contours  have  the  perfect  roundness  of  earliest  maturity. 

Her  fair  hair  is  bound  about  her  graceful  head  in 
simple,  lustrous  bands,  so  tightly  drawn  they  would 


244  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

seem  severe  did  not  two  curls,  permitted  to  escape,  dan- 
gle upon  her  snowy  shoulders,  which  rise  boldly  in 
dimpled  beauty  from  a  corsage  of  white  satin,  very 
deftly  laced,  to  contrast  -  the  rounded  beauty  of  her 
gleaming  bust  with  the  litheness  of  her  slender  waist. 

Over  this  corsage  is  draped  a  simple,  silver  tissue, 
girdled  at  the  waist  by  a  zone  of  argent.  From  there, 
this  silvery,  floating  stuff  descends  to  just  above  the 
graceful  knees,  in  two  bouffant  skirts,  so  sheer  that 
through  them  shine  the  exquisite  limbs  encased  by  a 
silken  web  so  fragile  it  seems  but  a  sheen  over  the 
white,  gleaming  flesh.  Her  pretty  feet  are  in  light, 
dancing  slippers,  sandled  to  the  rounded  ankles  with 
satin  ribbons. 

And  now,  to  the  music,  these  little  feet  begin  to  move, 
following  accurately,  but  almost  frantically,  each  wave 
of  Vicenza's  wand,  that  indicates  the  tempo  and  the 
movement ;  and  the  measure  growing  faster,  the  twink- 
ling feet  move  quicker,  the  flying  skirts  expand,  the 
glistening  limbs  beat  the  air  more  frantically,  the  white 
breast  begins  to  throb,  the  beautiful  face,  which  was 
pale,  grows  flushed  with  mighty  exertion,  and  Eugenia, 
now  dancing  on  very  toes,  looks  like  a  sylph  flying  from 
a  satyr ;  for  a  strange,  appealing  nervousness  is  on  her 
face  that  gives  to  it  a  wild,  yet  pathetic  beauty.  The 
debutante  is  dancing  for  a  boon,  without  which  the  spy 

despairs.  aJU-yvOfc 

"  Cospetto ! "  laughs  Da^vTessinayy  "  Eugenia  looks 
as  anxious  as  if  she  were  Herod&s  dancing  for  the 
head  of  John  the  Baptist."  But  he  never  guesses 
she  is  dancing  for  his  head. 

"  She  looks  pretty  enough  to  even  enchant  a  Blue- 
beard like  you,"  whispers  Estelle. 

As  for  Franz,  his  eyes  follow  the  beautiful  debutante 
till  the  music  ceases,  and  Vicenza  cries :  "  Salute  and 
retire !  " 

At  this  command,  la  contessa  sweeps  to  the  floor  with 
a  graceful  courtesy  and  one  appealing  glance  to  Per- 
golese;  then,  at  her  padrona's  signal,  glides  to  the 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  245 

door.  Here,  turning,  she  again  salutes,  and  disappears, 
a  smile  of  victory  upon  her  face ;  for  Franz  is  clapping 
his  hands  boyishly,  and  crying :  "  Bravo !  Well  done ! 
She  is  beautiful  as  a  dream !  " 

To  this  Da  Messina  adds,  quite  enthusiastically: 
"  We  have  a  fortune  in  this  dancer,  Vicenza !  " 

As  for  Estelle,  she  has  almost  danced  herself;  to  the 
merry  rhythm  of  the  music,  her  little  foot  has  kept  time; 
and  she  is  now  crying :  "  Bravo,  bravo,  Eugenia !  " 

"  Diavolo!"  laughs  Vicenza.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd 
have  her  at  least  a  coryphee  in  a  week !  I  sold  a  lot  of 
her  foolish  costumes,  fit  for  a  marchessa,  to  buy  her 
tights  and  dancing  frocks,  and  the  jade  half  cried  her 
eyes  out.  But  isn't  she  beautiful  in  them  ?  " 

"  Exceedingly !  "  remarks  Carlo,  as  he  leads  Estelle 
to  her  parlor;  but  Franz  lingers  up-stairs,  and,  plac- 
ing a  few  gold  pieces  in  Paola's  hands,  whispers : 
"  Can  I  engage  your  beautiful  debutante's  services 
for  Monday  evening?" 

"  Of  course !     That's  what  she's  here  for." 

"  Then  have  her  at  the  Cova  at  nine  o'clock." 

"  Thanks,  Captain !  "  says  the  woman,  as  he  rejoins 
Da  Messina. 

But  after  the  two  gentlemen  leave  the  house,  she  mut- 
ters :  "  Austrian  gold  is  as  good  as  any ;  still,  Pergo- 
lese  making  friends  with  a  white-coat  is  beyond  my 
poor  brain." 

They  are  just  gone  when  Eugenia,  in  the  costume 
of  the  ballet,  comes,  with  radiant  face,  running  down 
to  Estelle,  and  cries :  "  God  bless  you,  darling !  Paolar 
is  so  delighted !  She  says  I'll  make  money  for  her 
within  a  week,  and  has  promised  to  grant  me  a  favor 
on  Monday."  Then  she  babbles  on :  "  Take  me  to 
see  Pergolese  to-morrow  night — you  know  you  prom- 
ised to;  you  said  you  had  a  box." 

"  Of  course  I  will !  He  forgot  to  hand  me  my  tickets 
— it  must  have  been  because  you  are  so  beautiful,  my 
dear.  I'll  write  to  him  at  once,"  and  Estelle  indites 
another  little  note  to  her  affianced,  asking  for  the  loge. 


246  ADRIKNNE  DE  PORTAtlS. 

But  this  evening  Carlo  does  not  come,  and  after  wait- 
ing for  him  longingly,  his  sweetheart  goes  drearily  to 
bed ;  to  shed  some  silent  tears,  as  Eugenia,  whose  head 
is  upon  the  neighboring  pillow,  whispers  a  few  crafty 
and  disquieting  suggestions ;  for  no  place  on  this  earth 
is  so  effective  for  unhealthy  confidence  from  one  fair 
head  to  another  as  when  the  fair  heads  lie  pillowed 
side  by  side. 

But  on  Sunday  afternoon  a  note  comes  from  the  tenor 
to  Estelle,  saying :  "  I  withhold  the  box,  mia  carissima, 
because  I  don't  wish  you  to  go  this  evening.  Believe 
me,  I  have  never  forgotten  your  wish,  which  is  my 
pleasure ;  but  after  serious  consideration,  though  I  had 
the  tickets,  I  returned  them,  as  I  do  not  think  it  best  for 
you  to  visit  La  Scala  to-night.  God  bless  you,  dear 
one !  Last  night  I  would  have  come,  but  I  could  not 
look  upon  your  pleading  eyes  and  refuse  the  darling  of 
my  heart." 

Whereupon,  flying  into  a  tantrum,  Da  Messina's  be- 
trothed tears  the  note  up,  stamps  her  feet  upon  it, 
and  cries :  "  That  for  his  promise !  He  doesn't  dare  to 
come  and  confront  me !  " 

"  Perhaps  he  doesn't  wish  you,"  remarks  Eugenia, 
who,  by  ill  luck,  chances  to  be  with  her,  "  to  see  him 
in  those  love  duets  with  Olinska.  He  fears,  perhaps, 
that  you  may  discover  in  his  ardor  that  his  passion  for 
la  belle  Sophie  is  more  real  than  he  would  care  for  you 
to  know." 

"  But  I'll  see  him — and  his  mistress,  too !  "  says  the 
mutinous  one.  "  I'll  have  a  box  in  spite  of  him !  " 

With  this,  taking  a  dozen  pieces  of  the  gold  Carlo  had 
sent  to  her,  she  jeers :  "  They  say  Pergolese's  notes  are 
golden ;  I  pay  gold  for  his  voice !  Eugenia,  we'll  have 
a  box,  and  a  jolly  good  time,  we  two  bound-girls,  while 
our  padrone  isn't  looking.  Come  with  me,  dear  one; 
you  are  my  only  consolation." 

*'  But  Vicenza  won't  let  me  go  without  Pa  Messina's 
permission,"  pouts  la  contessa. 

"Oh,  yes  she  will,  if  I  ask  it!" 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  247 

And,  Estelle  flying  up  to  Paola,  the  latter  says :  "  Of 
course,  if  you  ask  it,  pet,  and  Josepha  goes  to  keep  her 
eye  on  Eugenia." 

With  this,  getting  Josepha,  who  loves  her,  into  the 
room,  Estelle  prattles  to  the  maidservant :  "  Run  out 
and  get  a  box  for  La  Scala  to-night!  You  shall  go 
with  us  to  hear  Pergolese." 

"  Shall  we  have  a  supper  in  the  box  ?  "  asks  the  prac- 
tical Josepha. 

"  Oh,  yes — order  that  also.  Perhaps  we  may  have 
visitors.  Mayhap  the  Austrian  captain  will  come  up. 
He  seemed  to  put  quite  pleasant  eyes  on  you  in  your 
dancing  costume,"  she  laughs  to  Eugenia. 

Whereupon  Josepha  goes  quite  blithely  on  this  er- 
rand ;  for,  although  she  has  heard  Pergolese  sing  many 
times,  she  is  enraptured  to  hear  him  again.  Besides, 
the  eatables  appeal  to  her  also.  From  her  journey  she 
shortly  returns,  saying :  "  I  could  only  get  a  box  in  the 
upper  tier.  Everything  else  is  engaged." 

"  Yes ;   thank  you." 

Going  to  her  chamber,  Estelle  whispers  bitterly  to 
herself :  "  I'll  look  down  upon  my  recreant !  Every- 
body in  Milano  was  to  hear  him  sing  to-night  but  me — 
the  woman  he  pretends  to  love !  " 

And  the  time  of  performance  approaching,  Eugenia 
comes  to  her,  garbed  in  one  of  the  few  dresses  per- 
mitted her  by  the  economical  Paola;  and  the  two,  ac- 
companied by  Josepha,  walking  through  the  streets  to 
La  Scala,  which  is  but  round  the  corner  from  the  Via 
Oriani,  the  young  ladies,  being  quite  heavily  veiled,  pass 
through  its  grand  entrance.  Its  lobby  and  foyer  are 
now  crowded  with  men,  all  in  a  curious  Italian  excite- 
ment, vivid  and  picturesque ;  for  every  one  is  jabbering 
to  the  other  in  voices  so  intense,  and  with  gestures  so 
fervid,  that  Estelle,  a  little  frightened,  runs  up  the  stairs 
quite  hurriedly.  She  can  not  catch  the  meaning,  their 
chatter  being  too  rapid  for  a  not  thoroughly  educated 
ear;  though  Eugenia,  understanding,  has  a  sly  grin 
upon  her  face, 


248  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

And  so,  followed  by  Josepha,  who,  catching  the  re- 
marks of  some  people  going  into  the  pit,  has  now  a 
pallid  countenance,  they  reach  a  little  loge  in  the  upper 
tier,  and  look  out  upon  La  Scala,  crowded,  even  now, 
from  pit  to  dome. 

They  are  close  to  the  gallery,  and  Estelle  hears  an 
excited  murmur  rolling  through  it  like  thunder  presag- 
ing storm.  The  boxes,  she  notes,  quite  wonderingly, 
have  very  few  ladies  in  them,  though  packed  with  men. 
The  Imperial  loge  is  devoid  of  occupants,  the  only 
empty  spot  in  the  great  theater. 

Then  the  strains  of  the  beautiful  overture  float  up  to 
her  from  the  orchestra,  punctuated  by  the  munching  of 
macaroons  and  sweetmeats  in  the  anteroom  of  the  box 
by  Josepha,  who  already  has  fallen  to  on  the  supper. 

And  the  curtain  rising  upon  the  first  act  of  "  Lucia," 
Estelle's  heart  begins  to  flutter.  She  is  about  to  be  tor- 
tured by  seeing  the  man  she  loves  make  protestations 
to  his  mistress ;  for  that's  what  Estelle  now  thinks 
Olinska. 

But  she  is  to  be  tortured  in  another  and  different 
way.  As  the  act  drifts  on,  she  sees  the  beautiful 
Sophie  upon  the  stage,  and  hears  her  brilliant  voice 
ring  out  its  first,  sad  air  of  fatal  presage ;  then  warble 
the  exquisite  love  song  calling  Edgardo  to  her. 

Tis  just  before  Pergolese's  entrance !  An  agony  is 
upon  the  girl's  face,  which  Eugenia,  sitting  beside  her, 
yet  slightly  to  her  rear,  watches  with  the  intensity  of  a 
hawk.  "  In  Estelle's  torture  will  words  come  from  her 
fair  lips  to  betray  the  secret  for  which  she  has  suffered 
much  without  yet  gaining?"  is  Signora  di  Vilermo's 
anxious  thought. 

Then  the  house  grows  so  still  Estelle  can  hear  the  ex- 
cited beating  of  her  heart.  Pergolese  is  entering !  Oh, 
God,  with  what  ecstasy  she  had  hoped  first  to  hear  his 
voice  upon  the  stage !  And  now  with  what  sorrow ! 
Yet  here  he  comes,  stepping  through  the  trees,  dressed 
in  the  black  velvet  costume  that  is  usual  to  Edgardo. 

In  another  moment  she  will  hear  his  voice — she  does 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  249 

hear  it!  Three  grand  notes  come  floating  to  her  in 
the  air — silvery,  brilliant,  dominant.  Then  it  is  drowned 
by  a  roar  like  the  clatter  of  Pandemonium.  The  gallery 
bursts  out  in  one  howling,  shrieking,  hissing  "  Tradi- 
tore!"  The  boxes  and  the  pit  take  up  the  cry :  "  Male- 
detto  Pergolese!  Abasso  ainico  di  Austria!  " 

Though  a  few  friends  clamor  for  him,  they  are 
quelled  by  the  multitude  of  hisses,  as  the  mob  dash 
their  idol  from  ils  pedestal,  and  scoff  and  curse  this 
man  whom  they  li^d  once  worshiped. 

Gazing  at  Da  Messina  through  her  shaking  opera- 
glass,  Estelle  can  see  that  even  beneath  its  stage  rouge 
his  face  is  pallid  as  death,  but  that,  under  contumely,  his 
bearing  is  proud  and  noble. 

Once  more  he  steps  to  the  footlights  and  attempts  to 
sing,  and  again  the  howling  of  the  audience  beats  down 
his  voice,  as  it  does  the  orchestra.  The  bows  of  the 
violins  are  moving,  even  the  tympanii  are  being  struck, 
but  no  music  comes  to  her ;  only  the  same  snarling,  aw- 
ful roar. 

A  moment  after,  as  Pergolese  tries  apparently  to 
speak,  a  deluge  of  decayed  oranges  and  other  unpleas- 
ant things  the  mob  had  brought  to  give  him  greeting 
come  showering  down  over  this  once  pet  of  the  Milan 
stage,  and  the  prima  donna  flees  from  the  scene.  Then, 
as  he  raises  his  hand  commandingly,  a  bone,  thrown  by 
some  patriot  dastard  of  the  upper  gallery,  striking  him 
on  the  face,  a  little  blood  flows  down  his  cheek;  and 
amid  shrieks,  cat-calls,  and  the  din  of  the  Inferno,  the 
curtain  is  let  down. 

But  here  come  words  to  Eugenia  that  are  to  her  as 
the  joy  of  life,  for  Estelle  is  shaking  her  little  fist  at  the 
gallery,  and  crying :  "  Fools !  Idiots !  Don't  you 
know  that  he  is  risking  his  life  for  your  vile  cause! 
Dastards,  don't  you  know  that  he  is  bringing  arms  for 
you  to  fight  the  Austrians!  Ah,  Dio,  what  coward 
struck  the  man  I  love  !  " 

The  roar  of  the  gallery  and  of  the  house  drowns  these 


25O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

frantic  phrases,  save  to  the  ears  of  one — the  one  who 
least  of  all  should  hear  them — the  agent  of  Bolza. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

A  LETTER  THAT  SHAKES  AN  EMPIRE. 

Then  Estelle  sinks  back  in  her  chair,  and  almost 
faints.  But  Eugenia  fanning  her,  she  shortly  recovers, 
and  asks :  "  You  don't  want  to  stay  here,  do  you?  "  for 
the  roar  of  gallery  and  pit  is  still  deafening. 

"  No,  dear.  I  have  got  even  more  than  I  came  for," 
answers  Madame  Espia,  softly. 

"  And  so  have  I !  " 

Veiling  themselves,  and  calling  Josepha,  who  is  chat- 
tering excitedly,  but  who  economically  makes  up  a 
bundle  of  what  she  has  left  of  the  supper,  they  come 
down  the  stairways,  which  are  now  crowded.  As  they 
pass  the  foyer,  they  hear  a  rumor  that  the  management 
have  announced  from  the  stage  that  Pergolese  is  too  in- 
disposed to  continue  the  performance,  and  have  substi' 
tuted  Labari  in  the  part. 

This  mention  of  her  lover's  illness  affects  Estelle; 
and,  as  they  walk  home,  she  sighs  to  herself :  "  Mon 
Dieu !  I  turned  upon  him  like  the  rest !  I  disobeyed 
him !  He  feared  I  would  be  wounded  at  the  insults 
heaped  on  him;  that  was  the  reason  my  Carlo  did  not 
wish  me  to  see  him  on  the  stage  to-night.  Oh,  if  he 
will  but  come  to  me,  how  I  will  soothe  my  future  hus- 
band !  " 

For  Estelle,  like  most  women,  clings  closer  to  the 
being  she  loves  when  he  is  thrown  down  in  the  battle 
of  this  world. 

And  perchance  had  Pergolese  come,  all  might  yet 
have  been  well  with  him  and  her;  but,  like  many  men 
of  proud  disposition,  he  does  not  care  to  tell  this  being 
of  his  heart  that  those  who  have  worshiped  him  have 
cast  him  down,  and  spat  upon  him. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  25! 

So,  in  her  parlor  Estelle  paces  the  floor,  sometimes 
wringing  her  hands  a  little;  and  Eugenia,  gazing  at 
her,  knows  that  this  is  no  time  to  make  suggestion  that 
Da  Messina  is  untrue;  and  grins:  "  Cospetto,  if  I  cast 
doubt  upon  him  now,  my  little  spitfire  would  fly  at  me 
as  she  would  have  at  those  hissers  in  La  Scala's  gal- 
lery !  " 

Therefore  she  craftily  soothes  Estelle  by  saying: 
"  Peste,  this  is  nothing  to  what  it  would  have  been  had 
he  lost  his  glorious  voice !  You  heard  those  three 
grand  notes?  The  finest  in  Italy!  What  matters 
Milan,  when  this  great  artist  has  the  whole  world  be- 
fore him !  Besides,  within  a  week,  that  same  crowd 
may  change  their  fickle  minds  again,  and  cry  him  up 
as  they  have  hissed  him  down." 

So,  being  a  little  comforted,  the  dethroned,  tenor's 
sweetheart  is  helped  by  Eugenia  to  bed ;  and  clinging  to 
her,  she  whispers :  "  You  are  my  true  friend !  " 

Rising  early  the  next  morning,  Eugenia  goes  up  to 
Madre  Paola,  and  says :  "  Please  give  me  my  exercises 
now."  These  she  does  so  docilely,  so  correctly,  and 
yet  so  brilliantly,  that  Vicenza  smiles :  "  You  are  im- 
proving every  day.  You  need  take  no  more  steps  for 
me  to-day,  for  you  dance  this  evening  at  the  supper 
this  Austrian  officer  and  Pergolese  give  at  the  Cova." 

"What!      I  dance?" 

"  Yes ;  they  are  giving  a  fete  to  some  lady." 

"  Gran  Dio ! "  and  Eugenia  almost  faints  from  joy ; 
but  Mother  Paola  thinks  it  is  from  agitation  at  her 
coming  debut,  and  whispers :  "  Don't  be  frightened, 
child !  I'll  dress  you  myself,  and  put  you  into  a  new 
dancing  frock,  even  prettier  than  the  other ;  "  adding : 
"  You  said  you  would  ask  a  favor  from  me  to-day. 
Best  ask  while  I'm  pleased  with  thee.  What  is  it?" 

"  Only  that  you  permit  me  to  go  with  Estelle  to  drive 
in  the  Giardini  Publica,  and  spend  the  afternoon  there." 

"  Dio !  You  want  to  flirt  with  men !  "  mutters  Vi- 
cenza, suspiciously. 


252  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

"  Oh,  no !  I  promise  you — I  will  not  look  at  a  gen- 
tleman ! " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  girls  always  say  that  till  my  back  is 
turned!  But  you  can  go,  if  I  go  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you.  I  think  I'll  take  an  outing  myself.  If  Estelle 
hires  a  carriage,  it  will  cost  me  nothing.  Run  and  ask 
our  little  princessa  if  she  will  take  her  friend  Vicenza 
with  her." 

Coming  with  this  message  to  Estelle,  Eugenia  finds 
the  young  lady  with  a  note  in  her  hand  from  Pergo- 
lese,  which  tells  her  not  to  expect  him  this  day ;  but  to 
in  nowise  let  any  rumors  she  may  hear  of  last  night's 
attack  upon  him  distress  her,  and  that  now  she  must 
understand  his  reason  for  not  wishing  her  to  visit  La 
Scala. 

"  I — I  don't  think  I'll  go ;  I  hardly  care  for  gayety," 
she  says,  in  answer  to  la  contessa's  request ;  and  won- 
ders why  her  friend's  face  is  so  despondent. 

"Why  not?"  dissents  Eugenia,  stifling  a  mighty 
sigh.  "  Signer  da  Messina  never  comes  in  the  after- 
noon. He  will  think  you  are  taking  your  declamation 
from  Madame  Pacini." 

"  Yes,  that  is  her  time ;  but  I  don't  feel  well  enough 
to  act." 

"  A  little  fresh  air  would  bring  roses  again  to  you." 
Then  la  contessa  pouts:  "  If  you  don't  go,  I  lose  my 
outing."  And  this  wins  her  cause  with  Estelle's  gen- 
erous heart. 

"  Well,  then,  dear,  ask  Josepha  to  get  us  a  carriage !  " 

So  quite  early  this  afternoon,  having  finished  dinner, 
the  two  girls,  chaperoned  by  old  Madre  Paola,  in  a 
rather  broken-down,  old  chaise,  rumble  through  the 
streets  to  the  pleasure  spot  of  Milan. 

Estelle  is  dressed  very  plainly,  both  because  she  does 
not  care  to  attract  attention  and  also  because  she  knows 
Eugenia  will  not  be  permitted  ornament ;  that  young 
lady  wearing,  under  her  padrona's  direction,  the  plain 
gown  in  which  she  had  signed  her  articles  of  indenture. 

As  they  ride,  were  Estelle  not  so  dispirited  that  she 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  253 

takes  little  heed,  she  would  scarce  fail  to  notice  that 
Paola  is  suspicious  of  la  contessa's  object  in  asking 
for  this  outing. 

They  have  hardly  left  the  house,  when  Vicenza, 
catching  sight  of  the  Polish  bottines  that  had  received 
Da  Messina's  condemnation,  says,  sharply :  "  Put  up 
those  man-catchers  on  the  seat  beside  me,  my  amorous 
minx !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  madref  "  asks  Eugenia,  who 
is  sitting  opposite  her  ruler. 

"  I  mean  those  boots,  tassled  to  catch  men's  eyes !  " 
she  growls ;  adding,  grimly :  "  Your  beauty  now  be- 
longs to  me — not  to  the  gentlemen."  And  Eugenia, 
poutingly  complying  with  her  demand,  old  Paola  takes 
from  her  pocket  a  pair  of  scissors ;  for,  being  econom- 
ical even  of  her  time,  she  has  brought  with  her  some  ar- 
ticles for  an  afternoon's  knitting.  With  these  she  coolly 
cuts  off  the  big,  silken  tassels  that  deck  the  handsome 
boots,  and  with  a  sniff  of  disdain  tosses  them  out  of 
the  carriage  window.  "  Now,  you  are  more  modest, 
girl,"  she  says;  then  whispers  in  the  indignant  con- 
tessa's ear :  "  Let  me  catch  but  a  glance  at  gallant  in 
the  park,  friponne,  and  you  know  what  I'll  do !  "  Her 
eyes  are  such  that  Eugenia  hangs  her  head,  and  an- 
swers, meekly :  "  Yes,  mia  padrona."  She  has  no  wish 
to  anger  her  stern  guardian,  fearing  that,  kept  strictly 
by  her  side,  she  will  lose  an  opportunity  that  she  values 
almost  as  her  soul. 

A  moment  after,  they  descend  from  the  carriage,  the 
two  young  ladies  making  pretty  contrast  with  the  grim 
Vicenza,  as  they  stand  under  the  trees  of  the  pleasure- 
ground. 

The  Giardini  Publica  are  very  lovely,  and  this  March 
day  is  as  balmy  as  a  May  one. 

So,  Vicenza  keeping  a  hawk's  eye  upon  her  dancer, 
the  two  girls  wander  about  in  listless  fashion  amid  the 
shrubs  and  flowers.  But  not  for  long;  for,  gazing 
toward  the  chestnut  trees  that  shade  the  drive,  Eu- 
genia remarks :  "  Dear  madre,  would  you  take  us  over 


254  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

there,  where  we  can  look  at  the  carriages  ?  I'm  tired  of 
babies  and  their  nurses !  " 

"  Why  not?  "  answers  Paola.  "  I  can  knit  comfort- 
ably over  there;  and,  though  you'll  see  gallants,  Eu- 
genia, they  will  be  on  horseback,  and  out  of  reach !  " 

But  Vicenza  need  not  fear  the  bright  eyes  of  la  con- 
tessa  this  afternoon.  All  Eugenia  seems  to  wish  is  to 
get  Estelle  where  she  can  gaze  upon  that  broad  avenue 
of  chestnut  trees  running  from  the  Porta  Orientale,  now 
known  as  the  Venezia  Gate,  to  the  Porta  Nuovo,  at  that 
time  the  fashionable  drive  of  the  Milanese. 

Therefore,  after  a  few  moments,  Paola,  being  seated 
upon  a  bench,  with  one  eye  on  her  knitting  and  the 
other  upon  her  apprentice,  Eugenia  leads  Da  Messina's 
sweetheart,  who  seems  to  care  little  what  she  does,  to  a 
comfortable  spot  from  which  they  can  view  the  caval- 
cade. 

Here  Estelle  raises  her  parasol,  and  appears  but 
slightly  interested  in  the  spectacle ;  though  all  the  time 
her  companion  keeps  pointing,  and  exclaiming :  "  Look 
at  those  horses !  See,  dear,  there's  at  least  a  marchessa 
in  that  magnificent  equipage!  And  here's  an  English 
milord,  I  should  imagine,  with  two  big,  fat  flunkies 
riding  on  the  rumble  behind.  Dio,  Estelle,  how  boldly 
those  Austrian  hussar  officers  ride !  " 

Thus  commenting  on  the  passing  show,  she  contrives 
to  keep  Estelle's  languid  eyes,  if  not  interested,  at  least 
alert,  though  enlivened  by  the  bright  scene,  for  the  sun 
is  shining  softly  through  the  chestnut  trees  upon  a  bril- 
liant cavalcade  that  is  gradually  growing  larger,  the 
glances  of  Da  Messina's  betrothed  become  gradually 
more  interested. 

Encouraged  by  this,  Eugenia  keeps  up  her  prattle  as 
to  passing  carriages,  discontinued  every  now  and  then 
by  the  watchful  Paola  calling  her  apprentice  to  her 
side,  and  giving  her  some  whispered  caution  or  direc- 
tion. Finally,  she  brings  misery  upon  Eugenia  by  say- 
ing :  "  I  think  I  shall  take  you  home,  my  child.  Made- 
moiselle, over  there,  seems  wearied ;  and  I  want  you  to 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  255 

rest  a  little  before  your  dance  to-night.  You  will  need 
it.  I  shall  have  you  take  three  encores." 

"  But  I  am  brisk  as  an  India-rubber  girl,  my  dear 
madre! "  cries  la  contessa,  trying  to  be  vivacious  with  a 
sinking  spirit.  "  Just,  please,  a  little  longer,  and  I'll 
dance  my  toes  off  for  you !  " 

"  Well,  then,  five  minutes.  In  that  time  I  can  finish 
this  stocking,"  remarks  her  padrona. 

Whereupon,  striving  to  keep  the  disappointment  from 
her  face,  Eugenia  runs  briskly  to  Estelle,  and  whis- 
pers :  "  Have  you  seen  anything  very  interesting  yet  ?  " 
then  suddenly  ejaculates:  "Ola!  That's  a  pretty 
equipage  —  and  there's  that  Captain  Radetzky,  the 
friend  of  our  padrone." 

"  Yes,  there's  Franz !  "  cries  Estelle.  Then  her  eyes 
becoming  bright,  she  whispers  :  "  Perhaps  Carlo  will  be 
here !  "  but  in  the  next  second  murmurs :  "  No,  that  is 
impossible.  His  note  said  he  would  be  too  occupied  to 
even  visit  me  this  afternoon."  With  this,  she  brings 
consternation  upon  Eugenia ;  for,  rising,  she  sighs :  "  I 
think  I'll  go  home  now.  There  aren't  many  carriages 
passing.  You  won't  mind  it,  dear?  Besides,  Paola 
is  beckoning  to  you." 

Though  there  is  despair  in  her  heart,  Eugenia  will 
not  accept  defeat  so  easily,  and  sits,  doggedly  prat- 
tling on :  "  See  that  donkey  cart !  "  then  suddenly  cries : 
"  Look  there !  There's  some  commotion !  The  few 
people  in  the  carriages  have  turned  their  heads  away 
from  that  handsome  equipage !  "  Her  voice  is  very 
low  ;  something  has  got  into  her  throat  now.  "  What 
can  the  matter  be  ?  Can  you  see  ?  " 

"  No — hardly !  The  sun  is  shining  in  my  face,"  re- 
plies Estelle,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  fan ;  then  sud- 
denly she  begins  to  tremble,  as  a  man,  standing  nearer 
than  she  is  to  the  driveway,  guffaws  to  a  companion: 
"San  Marco!  They  are  giving  that  friend  of  Aus- 
tria another  roast!  The  people  won't  look  at  Signer 
da  Messina  High  C,  though  there  he  goes." 

Her  glance  following  the  fellow's  gesture,  a  stifled 


256  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

cry  rises  in  Estelle's  burning  throat ;  a  little  hand  goes 
to  a  wounded  heart!  For  in  a  very  handsome,  open 
barouche,  drawn  by  two  white  horses,  rides  Pergolese, 
and  beside  him,  in  arrogant  beauty,  the  woman  who 
was  once  his  mistress,  and  whom  Estelle  now  thinks 
must  be  again  his  mistress,  Sophie  Olinska. 

Eugenia,  who  has  gazed  upon  her  victim,  with  every 
sense  alert,  fears  she  will  faint,  for  then  she  will  give 
no  tongue;  but  now,  to  her  astonishment,  the  pretty 
nose  rises  in  the  air,  the  delicate  nostrils  expand,  the 
head  is  posed  haughtily  upon  the  erect  neck,  and  Es- 
telle, a  strange  calmness  in  her  voice,  though  her  lips 
tremble  like  aspens,  says :  "  Supposing  we  go,  Eu- 
genia. Paola  will  be  angry  with  you.  I  believe  she 
has  called  you  two — no,  three  times." 

A  moment  later  they  join  Vicenza,  to  whom  Estelle 
says,  half  laughingly :  "  Did  you  finish  your  knitting, 
Madre  Paola  ?  .  That's  a  very  pretty  stocking  you  are 
making,  but  quite  too  warm  for  this  spring  weather." 

"  Oh,"  observes  the  dancing  mistress,  who  knows  the 
Milanese  climate  very  well,  "  this  day  has  been  too  fine ; 
soon  we  will  have  a  storm.  The  winter  isn't  ended 
yet." 

As  they  drive  home,  Eugenia  looking  at  the  fair  face 
that  is  opposite  to  her,  finds  no  sign  upon  it;  though 
she  notices  the  little  hand  holding  the  fan  clutches  it 
once  or  twice  so  convulsively  she  can  hear  its  slender 
pearl  sticks  break. 

"  You  haven't  whimpered  yet  to  this  sting,"  she 
thinks.  "  The  only  time  you  cry  out  is  when  you  get 
in  a  rage,  as  at  La  Scala  last  blessed  night,  when  you 
told  me  a  little.  Diavolo !  When  we  are  back  in  the 
house,  I'll  see  what  anger  forces  from  your  secretive 
lips." 

Whereupon,  some  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward,  as 
her  victim,  in  a  distracted  way,  is  pacing  the  floor  of 
her  parlor,  wringing  her  hands  in  the  nervousness  of 
impotent  misery,  Eugenia,  coming  to  Estelle,  throws 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTAL1S.  257 

her  arms  about  her  neck,  and  sobs :  "  My  friend,  how 
I  pity  you !  " 

"  Don't  dare  to  pity  me !  " 

The  haughty  tone  tells  la  contessa  that,  unless  she 
drives  her  patient  to  frenzy,  she  will  scarce  obtain  the 
information  she  must  have  quickly  now,  for  there  are 
but  three  days  more  of  Bolza's  mercy. 

Therefore  she  puts  Estelle  rapidly  to  the  question, 
with  as  little  compunction  as  inquisitor  racked  infidel. 

"  How  can  I  help  it,"  she  breaks  out,  "  when  I  see 
you  flaunted  for  a  rival?  My  God,  dear  one,  you 
ought  to  speak  to  Da  Messina !  " 

"  I — I  am  too  proud  to  want  a  love  if  it  does  not 
exist.  Why  should  I  speak  ?  " 

"  What !  When  even  the  ballet-girls  of  old  Paola  up- 
stairs are  babbling  about  it ;  when  it  is  the  chatter  of 
La  Scala ;  when  all  Milan  is  laughing  at  one  tenor  and 
tivo  mistresses  ?  " 

"  Two  mistresses ! " 

Though  the  evening  has  brought  darkness,  Eugenia 
can  see  the  delicate  face  she  is  reading  grow  red  as  fire, 
then  turn  pallid  and  ghastly.  "  Yes,  the  great  prima 
donna  and  the  pretty  protegee  I"  she  whispers. 

But  here  the  tortured  one,  struggling  from  her  arms, 
confronts  her,  and  commands,  hoarsely :  "  Don't  dare 
to  say  mistress  to  me  again !  Don't  you  know  that  I 
am  the  promised  wife  of  Da  Messina?  " 

"  Impossible !  "  This  is  a  gasp  of  astonishment  from 
la  contessa. 

"  Why  not  ?  Have  I  not  the  ring  of  his  troth  he 
gave  me  in  Marseilles  the  night  before  I  first  saw  you, 
when  he  asked  me  to  be  his  honored  wife  ?  " 

"  In  Marseilles  ?  Incredible !  I  heard  your  cries  as 
he  beat  you." 

"  No — as  he  saved  me,  and  took  me  to  his  heart,  and 
told  me  that  he  loved  me!  It  was  so  sudden  that  I 
cried  to  him  :  '  Is  it  because  I  know  thy  secret?  ' 

"  Because  you  knew  his  secret !  "  breaks  in  Eugenia. 
Then,  recollecting  Estelle's  unguarded  words  at  La, 


258  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

Scala,  with  that  deft  acuteness  given  to  some  women, 
she  makes  a  crafty  shot  that  strikes  Estelle's  throbbing 
heart,  as  she  whispers :  "  He  loved  you  after  he  dis- 
covered that  you  knew  of  the  arms.  He  feared  that 
you  might  betray  it.  That's  why  he  bound  you  to  him 
by  asking  you  to  be  his  wife." 

" Misericorde,  can  you  be  right?"  screams  Estelle, 
her  eyes  opening  with  a  mighty  horror.  "  'Twas  just 
after  I  told  him  that  I  heard  the  English  manufacturer 
say  he  would  deliver  the  arms,  wrapped  in  hay,  at 
Genoa,  by  the  I5th!  Grace  aDieui  That  is  why  Da 
Messina  lied  to  me  when  he  told  me  that  he  loved 
me !  That  is  why  my  Carlo  tricked  me  into  believing 
that  I  should  be  his  honored  wife !  "  But  here,  casting 
back  from  her  white  brow  her  locks,  that  have  become 
disheveled,  she  fights  herself,  muttering :  "  Still,  has 
he  not  treated  me  with  all  respect;  when,  as  my  pa- 
drone, he  had  power  almost  sufficient  to  force  me  to 
his  arms  ?  I  can't  believe !  Oh,  God,  my  Carlo !  He 
— he  was  so  tender  to  me " 

"  So  tender  to  you  that  he  drives  in  open  state  with 
his  mistress,  la  belle  Sophie !  So  tender  to  you  that  to- 
night he  gives  a  fete  for  la  diva  at  the  Cova !  " 

"  Im — impossible !  " 

"  Impossible !  When  I,  his  dancing-girl,  pirouette 
there  in  Olinska's  honor!  "  jeers  Eugenia;  adding,  as 
Estelle  gives  out  a  harsh,  rasping  moan :  "  Paola  is 
waiting  to  deck  me  for  it.  I — I  wouldn't  tell  you,  dear 
one,  but  it  is  best  that  you  think  no  more  of  Da  Mes- 
sina." 

And  the  torturer's  arms  support  her  victim  into  her 
chamber,  where  Estelle  falls,  gasping,  on  the  bed,  her 
lips  muttering  inaudibly :  "  To  me  he  gave  but  his 
protestations ;  to  her  the  glory  of  his  arms !  " 

But  now  Eugenia  knows  enough.  Returning  to  the 
parlor,  she  figures  rapidly.  Her  quick  brain  decides : 
"  Genoa — the  arms  on  the  I5th  ;  one  day  to  land  them  ; 
two  to  reach  Tortone ;  one  day  for  accidents ;  the  pa- 
triots will  expect  them  here  about  the  20th ;  they  come 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  259 

packed  in  hay !  What  was  that  I  heard  from  the  oste- 
ria,  when  that  sighing  creature  in  there  slipped  on  cab- 
bage leaves  at  mention  of  hay  ?  A  contract  with  " — 
she  presses  her  brow  in  concentrated  recollection — • 
"  with  the — the  Fourth  Hussars.  Diavolo,  I  remember 
now !  This  to  Bolza,  and  I  am  free !  " 

A  few  half-broken  sobs  from  the  next  room  tell  her 
she  need  fear  no  interruptions  from  her  patient.  If 
she  runs  up-stairs,  Paola  will  call  to  her.  She  sits 
hurriedly  down  at  a  writing-desk,  and  on  Estelle's  paper 
writes  her  communication  to  the  head  of  police. 

This  she  does  not  dare  to  blot,  fearing  some  sharp 
eyes  may  read  the  reversed  inscription.  So  she  waves 
it  before  the  fire  till  dry ;  thinking  how  to  get  the  letter 
out  of  the  house.  As  Eugenia  debates  this,  she  is 
stricken  with  her  helpless  state.  She  is  not  permitted 
to  write;  she  can  not  pass  the  doorkeeper. 

Suddenly  an  idea,  born  in  the  Lower  Regions,  and 
vivid  as  their  fires,  springs  into  her  subtle  mind.  She 
seals  the  letter,  and,  filling  the  pen  with  ink,  walks  into 
the  chamber  where  Estelle  is  lying,  tossing  restlessly. 
To  her  she  says :  "  Dear  one,  could  you  do  me  a  great 
favor?  I  want  so  much  to  send  a  note  to  a  friend, 
and  you  know  Paola  does  not  permit  me  to  correspond, 
fearing  that  I  may  have  a  gallant.  You  send  out  let- 
ters every  day ;  would  you  kindly  address  this  and  for- 
ward it?" 

"  Yes ;  I — I  am  not  too  tired  to  do  you  so  small  a 
favor,  dear  Eugenia,"  replies  her  victim ;  and,  rising, 
half  totters  to  a  chair  beside  a  nearby  table.  As  the  pen 
is  placed  in  her  hand,  she  asks :  "  To  whom  ?  " 

"  Signer  Enrico  Donetto,  No.  17  Via  Santa  Marghe- 
rita,  Milano." 

"  Yes,  but  please  say  it  slowly  as  I  write,  so  I  make 
no  error ;  and  has  Donetto  two  n's  or  one  ?  " 

"  One,"  replies  her  mentor,  and  dictates  the  address, 
which  Estelle  scribbles  upon  the  envelope. 

Then,  ringing  the  bell,  la  contessa  suggests :  "  Would 


26O  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

you  kindly  give  it  to  Josepha.  From  you  it  will  pass 
without  question." 

Whereupon  the  abigail  coming  bustling  in,  Estelle 
places  in  her  hand  the  letter,  saying:  "  Here  is  a  mark  ; 
run  quickly  with  this !  Put  it  in  the  general  post,  and 
buy  chocolates  with  the  change."  And  so  sends  forth 
from  her  chamber  a  little  note  that  is  as  a  snowball  roll- 
ing down  an  Alpine  glacier — soon  to  become  an  ava- 
lanche. 

For  this  epistle  will  stir  up  in  this  city,  first  a  fer- 
ment, then  such  battle  of  townsmen  against  the  dis- 
ciplined legions  of  their  tyrants  that,  as  their  naked 
hands  close  on  the  Austrian  bayonets,  the  great  Empire 
of  the  Hapsburgs  rocks  to  its  foundations. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

SAVED   BY   ONE   WHIFF   OF   A   CIGAR. 

Reclining  upon  her  cot,  resting  for  her  coming  exer- 
cises this  evening,  the  lady  spy  laughs :  "  I've  placated 
Bolza,  and  in  a  few  days  more  he'll  get  me  out  of  Vi- 
cenza's  clutches !  " 

So,  after  a  good,  easy,  conscienceless  sleep,  this  even- 
ing, about  eight  o'clock,  after  being  bathed,  and  Josepha 
having  dressed  her  hair,  the  debutante  is  led  in  a  long, 
white  wrapper  and  bare,  slippered  feet  to  her  padrona's 
chamber,  to  be  decked  for  Da  Messina's  fete. 

Here  Eugenia,  who  seems  in  the  highest  spirits,  see- 
ing upon  the  bed  a  frock  of  softest,  blue  tissue,  flecked 
with  silver,  so  short  it  might  be  for  a  veritable  child, 
cries,  airily :  "  My,  what  a  pretty  jupe  you've  got  for 
me,  dear  madre!"  and  laughs:  " Evoe,  have  I  got  to 
wear  so  much?  "  For  this,  with  half  a  dozen  little, 
transparent  petticoats  of  blue  gauze,  silken  fleshings,  so 
light  that  their  sheeny  web  seems  gossamer,  and  tiny, 
white  dancing  slippers,  will  be  her  costume. 

"Per  Baccho,  but  I'll  make  you  a  fairy!"  remarks 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  261 

Paola;  and,  taking  la  contessa  in  her  strong  hands, 
robes  her  with  as  little  ceremony  as  a  nurse  would 
dress  an  infant;  every  now  and  then  remarking  on 
her  beauty,  and  once  chuckling :  "  For  this  first  appear- 
ance, ten  golden  pieces !  Cospetto,  if  I  can  but  get  the 
other  half  of  your  indentures  from  Da  Messina !  Even 
now  I  feel  as  if  you  were  all  mine." 

At  this,  thinking  of  Paola's  despair  when,  in  a  day 
or  two,  Bolza  frees  her,  Eugenia  laughs  so  merrily  that 
her  padrona,  giving  the  shoulders  that  gleam  before 
her  a  warning  slap,  says :  "  Quiet,  my  pet,  while  I  put 
this  camellia  in  your  hair." 

Then,  being  decked  to  her  mistress's,  liking,  and  look- 
ing light  enough  to  trip  upon  a  cloud,  Vicenza,  stand- 
ing her  prize  before  her,  commands :  "  No  word  to 
loungers  about  the  restaurant.  I  go  with  you.  Any 
flippant  conduct  I  will  chastise,  as  if  you  were  my  own 
child  !  Do  you  understand  me !"  and  gazes  with  hawk's 
eyes  upon  her  subject  until  la  contessa  droops  her  head, 
and  whispers :  "  Yes,  mia  padrona,"  meaning  obedi- 
ence with  all  her  heart. 

A  few  minutes  after,  in  a  little  vestibule  of  the  Cova 
opening  into  the  supper-room,  where  Pergolese's  fete 
is  in  progress,  la  contessa  stands  posed  for  her  en- 
trance. 

To  her  Paola  says :  "  Hark,  that  is  thy  music !  "  for 
the  little  orchestra  is  striking  up  the  Hungarian  polka. 
Opening  the  door,  she  commands :  "  Quick,  child ! 
Run  in,  salute,  and  do  thy  best !  " 

And  Eugenia,  spurred  by  a  warning  she  sees  upon 
her  padrona's  face,  flies  in,  and  dances  before  the  sup- 
per party  like  a  sylph.  But  even  as  they  applaud  her 
circles  and  pirouettes,  noting  the  distress  upon  Da  Mes- 
sina's countenance  at  unexpected  sight  of  her,  the  balle- 
rina laughs  to  herself:  "Santa  Maria,  he  must  love 
Estelle !  His  looks  show  he  fears  she  will  hear  of  this 
entertainment  to  Olinska.  It  is  very  curious  he  did 
not  make  the  little  thing  his  mistress  before  he  returned 
to  that  diva  over  there," 


262  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

So,  while  Pergolese  once  or  twice  gazes  grimly  at 
Franz  for  his  ballet  surprise,  Madre  Vicenza's  dancing- 
girl  makes  a  great  triumph. 

But  after  an  encore,  chancing  to  make  her  exit 
through  the  wrong  door,  a  gentleman,  sitting  all  alone 
in  another  private  room,  whispers  a  few  words  to  la 
contessa. 

From  this,  with  rather  a  startled  look  upon  her  face, 
she  comes  back,  stammering  to  Paola :  "  I — I  made 
such  a  strange  mistake  in  the  door.  I  got  in  another 
apartment,  where  a  gentleman  fs  dining  by  himself." 

"  Yes,  I  saw,"  says  the  dancing  mistress,  grimly ; 
then  chuckles :  "  I  will  warrant  he  said  you  were  the 
prettiest  thing  in  Milan  this  night !  " 

"  That's  just  what  he  did  say,  madre"  whispers  the 
debutante,  as  she  is  being  wrapped  up  very  carefully 
from  the  night  air,  preparatory  to  being  taken  home. 

But,  after  the  doors  of  the  old  house  in  the  Via 
Oriani  have  closed  upon  them,  Paola,  changing  her 
tone,  queries :  "  The  name  of  the  man  who  spoke  to 
thee,  my  pet,  in  that  private  dining-room  ?  What  said 
he  to  thee  ?  " 

And  la  contessa  answering  nothing,  though  there  is  a 
frightened  look  in  her  violet  eyes,  her  mistress  con- 
tinues, more  sharply  :  "  Come,  come !  Whisper  it  in 
my  ear.  Paola  has  managed  too  many  friponnes  to  be- 
lieve thy  mistake  was  accidental." 

To  this  Eugenia  makes  no  reply ;  though  her  grace- 
ful knees  tremble  as  she  walks  up  the  stairs  beside  her 
gaunt  mistress,  whose  strong  hand  has  taken  hold  of 
her  delicate  wrist. 

Arriving  at  her  chamber,  where  Josepha  meets  them, 
Paola,  as  they  divest  Eugenia  of  her  wraps,  sneers : 
'''  This  child  is  so  elated  with  her  success !  She  has  a 
gallant  unknown  to  me ;  she  is  so  arrogant  she  will- 
not  favor  me  with  his  name,"  and  gazes  sternly  upon 
the  fairy  creature,  who,  in  light  dancing  robe,  seems 
penitent  enough,  for  her  eyes,  already  limpid,  are  be- 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  263 

seeching  her  padrona,  and  her  lips  now  plead :  "  Please, 
madre,  I — I  do  not  know  the  gallant's  name !  " 

"  Corpo  di  Diavolo,  don't  fib  to  me !  "  growls  her  au- 
tocrat ;  then  commands :  "  Josepha,  if  our  princessa 
down-stairs  does  not  want  her  company  this  evening, 
take  this  amorous  rogue  and  lock  her  up  in  her  cham- 
ber —  no,  she  shall  have  no  supper  —  and  to-morrow 
morning  bring  her  to  me.  Perhaps  with  a  night's  re- 
flection she  will  t.ll  her  little  story  to  her  madre.  If 
she  hasn't  found  tongue  then,  diavolo,  I  will  give  her 
one!  Tush,  you  needn't  beg  with  those  blue  eyes! 
,Wag  your  tongue  if  you  would  have  my  mercy." 

And  Eugenia  being  led  away,  as  the  key  turns  upon 
her  in  her  chamber  at  length  finds  tongue,  and  cries,  de- 
spairingly :  "  God  pity  me !  In  what  a  hideous  scrape 
I've  got  myself!  I  dare  not  tell  Paola  that  it  was 
an  agent  of  Boiza  who  spoke  to  me,  and  told  me  I 
must  remain  in  Vicenza's  service  till  further  command. 
O  Madonna  mia,  what  shall  I  do !  Even  if  the  doors 
were  open,  I  dare  not  run  away !  They  say  no  suspi- 
cion must  come  upon  my  errand  until  they  seize  Pergo- 
lese.  A  thousand  curses  upon  that  fool  Donetto,  who 
beckoned  me  through  the  slightly  opened  door  so  slyly 
that  I  must  come  into  him !  "  Then  she  clenches  her 
hands,  and  mutters  viciously,  imitating  Paola :  "  If  the 
princessa  down  there  doesn't  want  company !  O  Madre 
Dolorosa!  If  I  could  make  Da  Messina  think  his  pam- 
pered darling  gave  him  to  death!  That  would  be  a 
victory !  " 

Though  upon  this  night  of  her  success  the  spy's 
slumbers  are  not  so  pleasant ;  and  tears  fall  upon  her 
pillow,  as  she  now  almost  wishes  she  had  never  sent 
the  letter. 

But  this  epistle  within  forty-eight  hours  produces 
much  more  serious  consequences. 

The  second  day  from  this,  at  four  o'clock,  the  Aus- 
trian officer  walks  quite  excitedly  into  Estelle's  parlor, 
where  that  young  lady,  who  had  kept  her  bed  for 


264  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

twenty-four  hours,  is  half  reclining,  with  downcast 
air. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  alone,  gnadiges  fraulein," 
he  says,  as  he  kisses  the  hand  she  languidly  extends 
to  him.  "  I  am  here  to  ask  you,  as  Carlo's  affianced 
wife,  one  question " 

"Carlo's  affianced  wife!  You  know?"  cries  Es- 
telle,  her  eyes,  which  had  been  drooping,  becoming  as- 
tounded. 

"  Yes ;  the  other  evening,  after  Da  Messina  had  in- 
troduced me  at  a  petit  souper  to  a  lady  with  whom  he 

was  aware  I  was  enraptured,  I  said  to  him But, 

pardon  me ;  you  are  so  innocent  I  hardly  think  it  wise 
to  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  please  do — please  do !  You  owe  it  to  me  now ; 
you  have  said  too  much  to  stop.  What  did  you  say?  " 
begs  Estelle,  her  face,  that  had  been  pale  on  Franz's 
entrance,  beginning  to  regain  its  color. 

"  Well,  this  lady  had — had  once  been  in  love  with 
Pergolese.  To  him  I  remarked :  '  You  are  very  gen- 
erous in  aiding  a  rival.'  To  me  Carlo  answered :  '  No 
rival !  I  have  but  one  love  on  this  earth.  I  have  been 
debating  the  matter  in  my  mind,  and  now  I  believe 
it  best,  for  my  affianced's  sake,  to  tell  you,  my  inti- 
mate, that  I  have  but  one  love,  the  woman  I  am  going 
to  marry.'  And  that  was  you,  my  little  lady !  " 

"  O  Dieu,  merci !  Carlo  told  you  that  ?  "  cries  the 
girl,  her  eyes  throwing  off  their  load  of  torture,  and 
growing  bright  with  happiness.  "  Thank  you,  dear 
Franz,  for  whispering  it  to  me !  " 

To  this  Radetzky  does  not  directly  answer,  but  goes 
on  quietly  and  in  low  tones,  as  if  he  had  some  unpleas- 
ant business  on  his  hands :  "  As  Da  Messina's  be- 
trothed, I  ask  you,  as  woman  to  man,  can  you  show  to 
me  that  this  gentleman  you  love  is  not  connected  with 
the  movement  that  we  call  '  Young  Italy,'  which  pur- 
poses to  assault  the  integrity  of  the  Austrian  Empire  by 
rebellion  in  Venetia  and  Lombardy?  " 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  265 

"Can  I  prove  to  you  that  Carlo  is  not  Italian?" 
gasps  Estelle. 

"  No ;  of  course  I  know  his  family  is  an  old  one  in 
Milan.  But  I  want  sure  proof  that  your  affianced  is 
not  of  those  who  would  make  war  upon  us.  I  myself 
can  not  believe  it,  for  Da  Messina  gives  such  open 
friedship  to  me,  who  wear  Austria's  uniform,  that  it 
has  even  lost  him  the  friendship  of  his  people.  There- 
fore, I  beg  you,  as  you  love  this  man,  show  me  some 
little  fact  that  will  prove  Pergolese  is  not  an  enemy  of 
the  government  my  uncle  represents." 

"  Prove  to  you  he  is  not  a Oh,  that  is  a  difficult 

matter !  "  falters  Estelle,  her  eyes  growing  nervous,  for 
the  German  captain's  manner  indicates  his  curious  de- 
mand is  very  seriously  made. 

Noting  her  agitation,  he  says,  earnestly :  "  Believe 
me,  I  would  not  ask  it  did  I  not  have  it  in  me  to  do 
something  at  which  my  mind  rebels  but  my  heart  de- 
mands, because  it  means  the  safety  of  one  to  whom  I 
am  as  a  Jonathan  to  David " 

"  You — you  mean  Carlo's  safety  ?  Let  me  think, 
dear  Franz !  "  Then  she  pleads :  "  Will  you  not  do 
what  is  in  your  mind  unless  you  know  ?  " 

"  No !  Like  every  other  officer,  I  have  placed  my 
lips  on  my  sword-hilt  to  the  Austrian  colors.  That 
oath  I  do  not  violate.  Prove  to  me  that  he  is " 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  hard  problem !  "  she  murmurs,  and 
thinks  with  all  her  mind;  then  suddenly  gives  a  little, 
fluttering,  delighted  gasp :  "  I  can  do  it !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  little  one !  "  and  he  is  kissing 
her  hands. 

"If  you  saw  Carlo  smoking  a  cigar,  which  is  con- 
demned by  every  patriot  Milanese ;  if  I  proved  to  you 
that  he  smoked  every  evening,  but  fearing  to  be  insulted 
by  his  townsmen,  does  so  secretly — would  that  make 
you  believe  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  would.  A  member  of  Young  Italy 
would  as  soon  take  poison  as  a  cigar !  "  replies  Franz, 
eagerly ;  adding,  in  unbelief :  "  But  that's  impossible. 


266  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Carlo  has  refused,  even  in  private,  my  cigar-case,  till  I 
offer  it  to  him  no  more." 

"  Impossible?"  Were  not  the  captain's  manner  so 
serious,  Estelle  might  laugh;  as  it  is,  she  remarks, 
archly :  "  Put  your  German  nose  quite  close  to  these 
curtains ;  scent  them  carefully." 

Striding  to  the  draperies,  Franz  takes  one  big  sniff. 
"  Ach  Gott!  They  do  smell  suspiciously  unpatriotic !  " 
he  remarks. 

"  Here's  more  evidence !  "  and  leading  him  into  her 
chamber  in  careless  innocence,  Estelle  opens  her  trunk, 
and  whispers :  "  A  hundred  of  these  Regalias  were 
here  when  we  arrived.  Count  you  now  how  many !  " 
Then,  noting  his  astonished  eyes,  she  smiles :  "  You 
don't  suppose  /  smoked  them  ?  " 

"  Mein  Himmel,  they  are  well-nigh  half  consumed ! 
Still,  make  me  a  little  more  certain,  for  this  I  contem- 
plate doing  is  such  an  awful  wrench  of  every  military 
instinct !  "  Then,  the  veins  standing  out  on  his  fore- 
head, the  representative  of  Austrian  militarism  shud- 
ders :  "  Mein  Gott,  if  my  uncle  knew !  "  but  says,  de- 
terminedly :  "  Prove  it  to  me  beyond  a  doubt !  " 

"  You  shall  see  him  smoke !  "  whispers  Estelle. 

"When?" 

"  When  next  he  comes  here." 

"  That  must  be,  for  his  sake,  very  soon." 

"  If  he  loves  me,  my  Carlo  will  surely  come  to-night. 
Your  eyes  shall  behold  him  doing  the  unpatriotic  act," 
she  says,  vivaciously ;  for  at  conviction  of  Da  Messina's 
love  Estelle's  face,  despite  anxiety,  is  radiant.  Then 
she  whispers  quickly :  "  Wait  in  the  street  this  even- 
ing till  you  see  the  lights  burn  up  in  all  my  windows ; 
at  that  come  quietly  here,  and  knock  twice  upon  this 
parlor  door ;  and  I  will  arrange  that,  even  as  you  enter, 
my  Carlo  will  have  the  proof  between  his  very  lips." 

Here  Franz's  manner  beats  all  joy  out  of  her  counte- 
nance. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  am  afraid  that  will  not 
do,"  he  answers,  hesitatingly.  "  Believe  me,  I  do  not 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  267 

doubt  your  word,  honored  lady ;  but  this  is  a  matter  of 
my  conscience — betwixt  me,  my  Emperor,  and  my  God ! 
There  must  be  such  conduct  of  the  affair  that  you  have 
no  opportunity  to  give  your  affianced  word  of  warning. 
Any  man  would  smoke  a  cigar  to  save  his  life." 

"  To  save  his  life  ?  My  loved  one's  life  ?  You — you 
mean  that?  "  she  gasps,  as  if  she  can't  quite  realize  all 
the  horror  of  his  words. 

"  By  my  love  for  him,  would  that  I  did  not !  "  sighs 
Franz ;  then  mutters :  "  For  God's  sake,  give  me  such 
evidence  that  I  may  save  my  comrade  without  being 
traitor  to  my  country !  " 

At  this,  Estelle  presses  her  hands  to  her  brow,  and 
thinks  with  all  her  bright  mind ;  then,  though  her  sweet 
voice  trembles,  she  says,  simply :  "  You  want  such 
proof — that  I  have  no  previous  word  with  him ;  so  that, 
of  his  own  accord,  of  his  own  volition,  my  Carlo  does 
this  thing  which  will  make  you  sure  he  is  no  member 
of  the  party  called  '  Young  Italy  '  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

"  Then  come  here  not  later  than  a  quarter  to  seven 
o'clock  this  evening."  Her  voice  is  low,  her  manner 
agonized.  "  Come  here,  and  in  that  chamber  I  will 
prove  it  to  you." 

"Thank  you,  gnadiges  fraulein!"  and,  kissing  her 
hand,  the  German  goes  away,  giving  a  passing  bow  to 
Eugenia,  who  has  just  glided  quietly  in.  In  the  gloom, 
neither  have  noticed  her ;  and  even  as  Franz  passes  her 
he  does  not  mark  the  devil  that  dominates  the  anguish 
in  her  eyes. 

But  Estelle's  last  few  words  have,  unfortunately,  been 
overheard  by  a  woman  who  has  endured  a  punishment 
which  has  made  her  burn  for  revenge  upon  the  world, 
and  most  of  all  upon  her  sister  bound-girl,  who  lives  in 
the  luxury  of  a  pampered  princess,  while  she  receives 
the  discipline  of  her  station. 

For,  the  previous  morning,  la  contessa  had  been  taken 
en  peignor  to  her  padrona's  chamber,  and,  not  daring  to 
answer  Paola's  questions,  had  received  such  chastise- 


268  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALlS. 

ment  as  makes  her  a  fiend.  Even  as  Josepha  had  re- 
ceived the  culprit  from  the  motherly  arms  of  Vicenza, 
and  carried  her  back  to  her  room,  sobbing  and  whimper- 
ing like  a  child,  through  all  the  streaming  tears  she  sees 
a  devil  in  those  blue  eyes  that  makes  her  shudder,  re- 
membering tales  she  had  heard  of  poison  and  the 
Borgias. 

And  now  released  from  confinement,  the  fire  that 
still  flecks  her  tender  limbs  lights  in  her  heart  the  fire 
of  Hades,  especially  against  her  more  fortunate  sister. 

Therefore,  this  evening,  a  kind  of  demoniacal  exulta- 
tion in  her  fevered  mind,  Eugenia,  while  Estelle  is  en- 
gaged in  Paola's  room,  asking  that  the  German  officer 
be  permitted  to  come  to  her  parlor  without  announce- 
ment, takes  opportunity  to  glide  into  her  victim's  cham- 
ber, and  conceal  herself  in  the  closet  that  had  held  her 
so  safely  a  few  evenings  before. 

As  with  noiseless  steps  she  passes  through  Estelle's 
parlor,  for  some  occult  reason,  Eugenia  picks  up  and 
takes  with  her  a  heavy  book  of  bound  music,  the  score 
of  some  voluminous  opera.  In  her  hiding  place,  guess- 
ing what  will  come  to  her,  this  lady  spy  sneers :  "  Es- 
telle said  she  would  prove  what  he  demanded  to  Franz 
in  her  very  chamber.  She  is  about  to  revenge  herself 
upon  Da  Messina  for  slighted  love  with  his  boon  com- 
panion and  trusted  comrade.  Diavolo !  Under  proper 
management,  this  may  become  a  tragedy,  as  medieval 
as  in  the  time  of  that  Visconti  over  yonder  " — she  nods 
toward  the  Castello — "  who  spared  no  man  in  his  anger, 
no  woman  in  his  lust." 

With  this,  she  holds  her  breath,  fearing  the  beating 
of  her  exultant  heart  may  give  them  warning  of  her, 
as  she  hears  Estelle,  a  little  before  seven  o'clock  this 
evening,  show  Franz  into  her  chamber,  and  say  to  him, 
pleadingly :  "  Upon  your  circumspection  depends  the 
faith  of  my  future  husband  in  the  honor  of  his  coming 
wife.  Were  it  not  to  save  his  life,  I  would  not  do 
this  thing.  Sit  here ;  it  is  the  only  hiding  place  I  can 
give  you.  Listen,  and  believe  that  Pergolese  smokes 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  269 

the  unpatriotic  weed  without  any  hint  from  me.  To 
make  you  more  certain,  I  will  go  to  Carlo  from  you,  just 
as  he  enters,  so  that  no  word  can  reach  him  from  me, 
without  your  hearing  it,  while  I  present  to  my  affianced 
what  will  give  you  sufficient  faith  in  him  to  make  you 
speak  words  that  seem  very  hard  to  draw  from  com- 
rade's lips  to  save  another  comrade's  life ;  one  who,  for 
his  sake,  has  taken  the  scoffs  and  jeers  of  his  kindred." 

"  Were  it  anything  but  my  military  duty,  I  would  not 
ask  it  of  you,"  sighs  the  German  officer ;  "  but  even 
what  I  do  now  would  be  enough  to  make  my  comrades 
think  me  traitor.  And,  by  the  God  of  Heaven,  I  will 
not  think  myself  traitor,  too!  I  will  know  that  I  am 
saving  one  innocent  of  conspiracy." 

Almost  as  he  speaks,  there  is  a  sound  in  the  corridor 
of  approaching  steps ;  and  Estelle,  her  heart  beating  as 
if  it  would  tear  itself  out  of  her  fair  breast,  puts  her 
finger  on  Franz's  lips,  and  seizes  a  handful  of  the 
cigars. 

Then,  as  Pergolese,  with  a  flush  of  excitement  on 
his  face,  enters,  his  affianced,  who  now  is  very  pale,  runs 
out  to  greet  him ;  and,  as  she  gives  him  the  salute  of 
sweetheart,  says,  archly,  though  there  is  a  little  quiver 
on  her  lips :  "  Carlo  mio,  as  usual  a  cigar?  " 

"  Cospetto,  with  great  pleasure !  I  haven't  had  one 
for  two  days !  "  laughs  Carlo ;  and  salutes  the  pretty 
fingers  that  hold  the  dainties  toward  him. 

"  If  you  had  come  earlier,  you  would  have  had  both 
cigars  and  kisses  before." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  had  other  things  upon  my  mind. 

I "  By  the  grace  of  God  he  checks  himself ;  for  it 

is  waiting  for  tidings  of  the  coming  arms  that  has  kept 
him  from  his  love. 

But  being  desperately  afraid  that  some  chance  word 
by  Da  Messina  will  destroy  him,  Estelle  stops  -her  lov- 
er's mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  breaks  in  :  "  Please  smoke ! 
I'll  not  let  you  say  a  word  until  tobacco  has  taken  the 
gloom  from  thy  brow  !  Look  at  me — and  smoke !  " 

Whereupon  he,  putting  the  cigar  in  his  lips,  sits  down 


270  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

and  puffs  out  such  clouds  of  vapor  as  he  reclines  in 
smoker's  paradise  that  Franz,  sitting  in  the  darkness  of 
the  adjoining  chamber,  utters  to  himself  an  exclama- 
tion of  fervid  joy :  "  Thank  God,  I  can  save  him !  This 
man  I  love  is  innocent  of  conspiracy  against  my  coun- 
try!" 

Perchance,  had  Radetzky  waited  longer,  some  word 
from  Pergolese's  patriot  lips  would  have  destroyed  his 
faith;  for  late  this  afternoon  a  man  covered  with  the 
dust  of  travel,  brushing  by  him  on  the  street,  has  whis- 
pered :  "  Genoa !  "  which  told  him  the  weapons  for  this 
town  were  now  in  Italy. 

But  as  Da  Messina  sits  in  the  parlor,  looking  lov- 
ingly at  his  betrothed,  the  sound  of  a  book  falling  in 
his  sweetheart's  chamber  makes  him  start  up,  and  say : 
"Who's  there?" 

"I Oh,  God!" 

Did  Pergolese  see  the  face  of  his  betrothed,  it  would 
condemn  her ;  for  innocence  has  fear  as  well  as  guilt. 

But  he  has  no  thought  of  any  intrigue,  and,  stepping 
to  the  room,  remarks :  "  It  may  be  some  thief,  who  has 
sneaked  into  the  house." 

Yet  at  the  door,  encountering  a  stalwart,  German 
form,  with  honest  eyes  and  pale  face,  coming  out  to 
meet  him,  Carlo,  starting  back,  mutters :  "  Good  God ! 
My  friend !  " 

Then  casting  astounded  eyes  about,  he  sees  the  white- 
robed  figure  of  his  sweetheart  sinking  down  before  him, 
and  whispering  with  bloodless  lips :  "  Oh,  God,  I  am 
innocent !  I — I  did  it,  my  Carlo,  to  save  thy  life !  " 

"  That  is  true  as  the  Word  of  God !  "  says  the  Ger- 
man officer.  "  I  asked  the  boon  from  thy  betrothed, 
that  I  might  see  coming  from  your  unwarned  lips  that 
smoke  which  shows  you  are  no  member  of  the  party 
of  '  Young  Italy.'  By  her  devotion  to  you,  your  pure 
one  has  proved  it  to  me.  Now,  my  word  to  you !  " 

As  this  extraordinary  speech  assaults  his  astounded 
ears,  Pergolese  stands  gazing  from  the  frank  eyes  of 
his  comrade  to  the  beaming  truth  in  the  pure  face  of  his 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALlS. 

love  wonderingly,  for  he  can  not  believe  what  to  other 
men  might  seem  certain  proof. 

As  he  thinks,  Radetzky's  voice  breaks  in  haughtily 
upon  him :  "  You  can  believe  this  or  not,  as  you  like. 
If  you  doubt  my  honor,  and  the  innocence  of  this  hon- 
ored lady,  who  loves  you  with  her  whole  heart,  I  can 
always  give  the  satisfaction  of  an  Austrian  officer  to  a 
gentleman  who  thinks  he  has  been  wronged.  But  this 
I  tell  you,  Carlo — by  Heaven,  I  will  call  you  that  still ! 
I  came  here  to  warn  you,  on  receiving  certain  evidence 
that  you  were  no  conspirator ;  that  proof,  by  the  bless- 
ing of  God  and  the  devotion  of  your  pure  sweetheart,  I 
have ;  and  here's  my  warning,  given  to  you  because  you 
are  a  friend  of  friends,  one  who,  for  me,  has  borne  the 
flaunting  and  scoffing  of  his  city.  As  such,  I  tell  you 
that,  from  my  knowledge — which  has  drifted  to  me  as 
a  member  of  the  General's  staff,  as  the  favorite  nephew 
of  the  great  Marshal  himself,  who  questioned  me  as  to 
you  before  he  reluctantly  signed  the  warrant — that  the 
order  for  thy  arrest  is  issued.  Court-martials  are  very 
fatal  now.  Fly  while  there  is  yet  time !  " 

"  Time !  "  answers  Da  Messina,  excitedly,  yet  bit- 
terly. "  Impossible !  There  is  no  time ;  arrests  are 
made  within  the  minute;  trials  take  place  within  two 
hours — that  is  Austrian  justice  to  Italians !  We  won't 
discuss  this,  I  pray  you." 

"  But  I  tell  you  there  is  time.  Oh,  God,  sometimes 
I  feel  that  I  am  a  traitor!  But  I  inform  you  that  I 
know  from  the  secret  police,  one  or  two  of  their  higher 
officers  courting  my  favor,  that,  though  the  warrant 
was  issued  to-day,  for  some  reason  I  know  not,  you  will 
not  be  arrested  till  the  2Oth.  Therefore,  my  David, 
save  yourself,  and  get  you  gone !  " 

"  The  20th  !  "  whispers  Da  Messina.  "  The  20th! " 
A  horrified  look  comes  into  his  eyes,  perhaps  one  more 
terrible  than  had  been  in  his  features  before ;  for  in  this 
date  he  sees  that  not  only  danger  has  come  to  himself, 
but  to  every  other  patriot  in  Milano. 

"  God  knows  whether  I  ought  to  have  told  you !  " 


272  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

sighs  Franz.  "  But  how  I  despise  these  crawling,  po- 
lice spies,  that  stab  a  gentleman  behind  his  back !  You 
know  we  military  do  not  favor  Bolza  and  his  mouchards 
very  much.  Therefore  I  hand  you  this  envelope ;  the 
handwriting  seemed  to  me  slightly  familiar.  Though 
I  can  not  recollect  it,  I  may  have  seen  it.  But  in  this 
envelope  came  the  words  that  brought  suspicion  upon 
you ;  I  had  it  from  an  agent  of  Bolza  who  fawns  upon 
the  favorite  nephew  of  the  Governor  of  Lombardy." 

The  German  passes  the  envelope  to  the  Italian,  but 
Da  Messina  does  not  immediately  look  at  it ;  for  now 
his  glance  is  riveted  upon  the  fair  being,  who  has  caught 
his  other  hand,  and  the  pure  face  that  is  gazing  upon 
him,  as  if  she  were  pleading  at  the  gates  of  Heaven. 

Noting  her  posture,  Franz  says,  hoarsely  :  "  My  God, 
you  must  believe  her !  You  must  believe  me !  It  would 
be  too  great  an  infamy  to  doubt  that  angel,  though  you 
doubt  a  comrade!  Carlo,  I  have  proved  my  faith  in 
you  by  doing  what  might  give  me  not  only  death  but 
dishonor  before  an  Austrian  court-martial.  Say  in  re- 
ply to  me,  my  Carlo,  by  the  love  this  sweet  girl  gives 
to  you ;  by  the  love  I  have  shown  you  this  night,  that 
you  believe  both  her  and  me !  " 

"  I  do !  "  Pergolese  with  one  strong  hand  grasps  his 
comrade's,  and  with  the  other  that  of  his  love;  and, 
bringing  them  together  in  his  clasp,  whispers :  "  Franz, 
I  can't  look  up  into  your  face  and  doubt  her;  I  can't 
look  into  her  eyes  and  not  believe  you!" 

So,  with  a  muttered  "  Good-by  till  better  times ! 
Lebe  wohl  mein  bruder!  Save  yourself!  "  and  another 
strong  clasp  of  Carlo's  hand,  the  German  leaves  the 
room  with  hurried  steps ;  and  passing  down  the  stair- 
way, gets  out  into  the  street. 

But  here  he  suddenly  pauses,  and  turns  back  a  pace 
or  two ;  then  continues  on  his  way,  saying :  "  But  no ; 
that  is  impossible.  The  book  dropped  in  the  room 
behind  me — NOT  IN  THE  CHAMBER  OF  ESTELLE  !  " 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  273 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

"  I   WILL   MAKE   SACRIFICE !  " 

Left  together,  Da  Messina  gives  another  glance  of 
faith  at  his  sweetheart's  face,  which,  even  in  her  fear 
for  him,  is  radiant ;  then,  drawing  Estelle  to  him,  his 
kisses  show  that  he  has  no  doubt  of  her  love  and  truth. 

But,  even  in  his  arms,  she  whispers :  "  Fly !  For 
God's  sake,  take  the  generous  warning  given  to  you! 
Fly!" 

"  How?     Without  a  passport " 

"  Ah,  but  you  can  yet  away — you  have  five  days !  " 

"  Those  five  days  are  what  decide  me  to  stay  here ! 
This  is  the  i5th;  five  days  means  the  2Oth  of  March. 
This  five  days'  freedom  is  given  me  so  that  to  Milan 
may  come  no  suspicion  that  Bolza  has  discovered  that 
the  arms  with  which  we  are  to  strike  arrive  upon  the 
2Oth.  That  is  the  significance  of  Bolza's  mercy  to 
Pergolese.  If  they  arrest  me,  who  made  the  contracts 
for  them,  the  arms  will  be  held  in  Genoa  or  Tortone. 
If  they  let  me  remain  free  till  the  hay  wagons  cross  the 
frontier,  Foscari  and  every  patriot  driver  will  fall  vic- 
tims to  Austria,  and  the  weapons  will  be  seized.  With 
them  will  go  the  last  hope  of  my  people.  I  must  see 
the  Central  Committee  immediately  ;  I  must  give  warn- 
ing to  those  who  are  with  me.  To  do  this,  I  should 
know  who  has  betrayed  me.  This  envelope  Franz  gave 
me  to  disclose  to  an  innocent  man  a  secret  enemy,  will 
discover  to  me  a  conspirator,  perhaps  someone  in  our 
councils,  who  has  betrayed  us.  Gran  Dio!  Perchance 
some  Judas  in  the  Committee !  " 

As  he  says  this,  Carlo  turns  the  envelope  over  in  his 
hand,  and,  noting  the  handwriting  of  the  address,  his 
face  becomes  like  a  death-mask;  but,  forcing  himself 
to  compare  this  carefully  with  three  little  love  letters 
taken  from  his  breast,  the  strong  man  trembles,  and  has 
to  clutch  a  table  to  keep  from  falling. 

Then  his  eyes  blaze  with  an  awful  agony ;  he  mut- 


274  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

ters :  "  I  have  discovered  the  Judas !  O  God,  what 
finesse,  what  subtlety,  to  strike  me  down !  No  wonder 
the  papers  said  La  Baronne  de  Portalis  was  in  England ! 
You  are  a  female  Austrian  spy,  as  I  first  guessed! 
Threatened  with  my  knife,  by  an  inspiration  of  the 
Devil  you  assumed  the  name  of  that  fleeing  aristocrate, 
and  thus  tricked  me !  God,  how  you  have  played  your 
game !  "  Then  he  moans :  "  Oh,  darling  of  my  heart ! 
Oh,  traitress,  that  I  would  have  taken  as  my  bride  into 
my  arms !  "  next  snarls,  hoarsely :  "  But  you  don't  es- 
cape me !  Other  men  have  sacrificed  what  they  loved 
upon  the  altar  of  their  country !  Austrian  mouche,  thy 
time  has  come !  You  are  under  my  knife  again  !  You 
die  here !  "  and  draws  the  same  stiletto  that  had  flashed 
over  her  heart  in  the  postchaise  near  Montereau. 

At  this,  Estelle,  who  has  been  gazing  upon  him, 
thinking  him  insane,  stammers :  "  Die  here  ?  What 
do  you  mean  ?  "  then  gasps :  "  You  think  me  an  Aus- 
trian spy,  who  would  betray  the  man  I  love  to  death  ?  " 

"  Miserable  wretch,  you  never  loved  me !  " 

"  Then,  if  you  doubt  my  love,  kill  me !  "  Her  eyes 
blaze  with  unutterable  reproach ;  her  fair  hand  bares 
a  bosom  beautiful  as  a  marble  of  Canova's,  but  throb- 
bing at  injustice.  "  But  first,  in  very  common-sense," 
she  whispers,  "  prove  that  I  am  the  wretch  you  say, 
my  Carlo — an  accursed  spy,  who  would  for  Austrian 
money  doom  the  man  she  adores  to  death !  " 

For  answer,  he  simply  passes  to  her  the  envelope  the 
German  officer  had  given  him;  and  she  reading  upon 
it  "  SIGNOR  ENRICO  DONETTO,  No.  17  VIA  SANTA 
MARGHERITA,  MILAN,"  written  in  her  own  hand, 
gasps,  "  EUGENIA  ! "  in  voice  so  low  that  he  can 
scarcely  distinguish  it,  as  she  sinks  down  before  him 
as  inert  as  if  his  stiletto  was  in  her  heart. 

At  the  name,  as  if  by  magic,  comes  to  him  divination 
of  the  truth! 

With  a  cry  of  horrified  self-reproach,  Da  Messina 
sinks  down  before  the  woman  his  condemnation  had 
tortured  to  insensibility,  and,  gathering  her  to  his 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  275 

breast,  fondles  her  as  if  she  were  his  life;  and  tries 
to  revive  Estelle,  who  is  now  like  a  statute  in  the  arms 
she  loves. 

Finally,  thinking  he  feels  no  pulse,  he  mutters,  mad- 
ly:  "Good  God!  I've  killed  the  tenderest  heart  on 
earth !  "  and  dashes  to  Paola's  room,  to  get  her  aid. 

Taking  this  opportunity,  Eugenia  glides  from  out  the 
closet,  through  the  chamber,  and  through  the  parlor, 
giving  one  glance  of  hate  at  the  pale  face  that  lies,  quiet 
as  death,  upon  the  floor ;  and  so  gets,  trembling,  to  her 
little  room  up-stairs.  Curiously,  she  knows  very  little 
of  what  happened.  After  she  threw  down  the  book 
that  brought  about  what  she  imagines  a  catastrophe — 
from  the  moment  that  Franz  stepped  out  of  the  cham- 
ber into  the  more  distant  parlor — these  people's  voices 
had  been  so  low  she  could  not  catch  their  meaning. 
She  has  been  afraid  from  their  very  silence  to  move 
from  her  closet ;  but  Pergolese's  wild  cry,  as  he  thinks 
Estelle  dead,  has  given  the  spy  such  curiosity  that,  com- 
ing partly  forth,  she  has  seen  her  opportunity  of  escape 
without  discovery. 

Five  minutes  after,  by  the  use  of  stimulants  that 
Mother  Vicenza  brings  to  him,  Pergolese  gets  sentiency 
to  his  sweetheart. 

As  she,  lying  upon  a  sofa,  opens  her  eyes,  fearing  a 
revelation  from  her  tongue,  Da  Messina  orders  all 
others  from  the  room,  and  locks  the  door  upon  him- 
self and  his  betrothed. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  one,"  he  implores,  "  that,  for  a 
moment,  seeing  thy  handwriting,  I  said  words  for 
which  I  could  tear  out  my  tongue !  " 

"  Darling,  when  you  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  asked 
no  other  proof  that  I  was  pure,  makes  me  forgive  all 
else !  "  she  answers ;  and  her  pale  lips  upturned  to  his, 
her  arms  opened  to  him,  assure  him  not  only  of  pardon 
but  devotion. 

But,  even  in  her  embrace,  he  whispers :  "  Speak 
quickly !  Tell  me  all !  " 

And  Estelle,  describing  to  him  what  had  happened^ 


276  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

begs  him  to  forgive  her,  explaining  that  she  was  nearly 
crazy  with  despair  and  jealousy  when  she  cried  out 
words  to  Eugenia  that,  in  her  agony,  almost  now  seem 
to  her  a  nightmare. 

But  giving  him  all  the  information,  Pergolese,  plac- 
ing the  envelope  carefully  in  his  pocket,  says  to  her 
words  that,  as  they  soothe,  drive  her  distracted.  "  I 
should  have  been  more  careful,  dear.  I  should  never, 
in  the  first  place,  by  any  carelessness  let  your  ears  catch 
the  secret  of  my  country's  arnis.  Besides,  I  should 
never,  by  my  exertions  to  gain  the  friendship  of  a  true, 
German  gentleman  —  which  friendship  he  has  nobly 
proved  to  me  this  night  —  have  given  chance  of  wound 
to  thy  dear  heart.  As  it  is,  by  my  fault,  I  have  brought, 
perhaps,  the  shambles  to  those  who  trust  me ;  and  have 
— God  forgive  me ! — left  my  town,  helpless,  naked,  and 

unarmed,  against  its  Austrian  tyrants "  He  rises 

determinedly. 

"  You  go  from  me  ?  "  she  shudders.  "  My  God, 
they  may  arrest  you  in  the  street!  I — I  shall  never 
see  you  again,  my  Carlo !  " 

"  No,  I  am  safer  for  the  present  than  any  patriot  in 
this  city,"  he  answers,  grimly.  "  The  claws  that  are 
over  me,  ready  to  strike,  protect  me  till  they  close. 
My  liberty  gives  me  and  my  city  one  chance;  that 
chance  I  take." 

As  he  speaks,  she  utters  a  low  cry  of  horror ;  for  on 
Da  Messina's  face  is  that  extreme  exaltation  which 
comes  to  patriot  when  he  contemplates  an  act  of  de- 
votion to  his  country  that  may  give  him  a  martyr's 
crown. 

"  Don't  go !  By  your  face,  I  see  you  are  about  to  die ! 
Don't  kill  me  too !  Give  me  a  little  hope — give  me  one 
chance — that  I  shall  feel  thy  arms  again  about  me,  and 
be  your  bride !  " 

Her  lips  are  sweet  enough  to  call  a  dead  man  back 
to  life ;  her  loveliness  so  winning  in  her  despair  that,  to 
make  this  fair  creature  bride,  a  lover  might  give  up 
paradise.  Thinking  this  as  he  holds  her  in  his  arms, 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  277 

Carlo  says,  determinedly :  "  I  will  give  myself  all 
chances." 

"Thank  God!" 

"  Have  you  the  power,  dear  one,  to  give  a  slight  as- 
sistance ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Have  you  self-command  to  guard  from  Eugenia, 
by  word,  deed,  and  look,  that  she  is  suspected  ?  " 

"  Only  by  keeping  from  her  vile  sight !  " 

"  Then  don't  let  her  look  on  you.  If  Bolza  guesses 
that  I  even  suspect,  with  that  goes  my  liberty  and  all 
hope.  At  present,  he  thinks  me  a  sleeping  snake,  and 
lets  me  lie  dormant." 

"  Yes,"  she  answers,  in  simple  determination.  "  For 
the  lover  who  saw  a  man  in  my  chamber  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  and  yet  gave  not  even  a  glance  which  showed 
he  doubted  my  purity  and  faith  to  him,  I  can  do  every- 
thing, anything !  " 

With  this  assurance  from  her  lips,  Da  Messina  leaves 
his  betrothed,  who,  under  plea  of  illness,  locks  her  par- 
lor door,  and  strides  the  room,  distracted,  but  safe  from 
observation. 

Getting  out  from  the  Via  Oriani — for  even  now  it  is 
scarce  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening — Pergolese,  taking 
extraordinary  precautions  to  prevent  his  being  traced, 
make  his  way  cautiously,  but  rapidly,  to  the  house  of 
the  Central  Committee. 

Here,  making  the  required  salute  upon  the  door,  and 
passing  by  some  members  of  "  Young  Italy  "  who,  as 
usual,  are  on  guard  about  the  building,  he  reaches  the 
room  in  which  he  had  given  to  the  Central  Committee 
but  a  little  over  a  week  ago  the  tidings  of  the  coming 
arms. 

As  he  enters,  Da  Messina's  face  and  manner  show 
to  his  fellow-patriots  that  he  brings  them  very  serious 
tidings. 

Fortunately,  there  chance  to  be  present  this  evening 
Manara  and  il  Conte  Cesaresco,  one  of  the  most  prom- 
inent patriot  leaders.  The  latter  is  remarking :  "  I 


278  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

am  thinking,  Luciano,  that  to-morrow  I  will  go  off  to 
our  mountains,  by  the  Lago  di  Guarda,  and  bring  with 
me,  at  the  proper  time,  some  of  my  Brescian  peasants 
and  lake  boatmen,  whose  brawny  sinews  and  brave 
hearts  will  do  quite  well  about  the  2Oth." 

"  Pardon  me,  Luciano,"  interjects  Da  Messina;  "  but 
could  you  send  out,  without  attracting  attention  or  com- 
ment, and  get  quickly  here  a  majority  of  the  Com- 
mittee?" 

"  By  your  face,  Carlo,  it  is  important !  "  whispers 
Manara. 

"  It  is  life  or  death !  " 

So,  various  trusted  messengers  being  dispatched,  in 
the  course  of  half  an  hour  there  are  gathered  together 
in  this  old,  dark,  wainscoted  room  of  the  Italian  pal- 
ace, that  in  its  time  had  doubtless  seen  conspiracy 
against  Sforza  or  Visconti,  men  who  have  in  their  faces 
that  peculiar  look  which  indicates  that  they  live,  facing 
each  day  sudden  death. 

"  You  have  some  news  to  give  us,  Da  Messina  ?  " 
asks  Gabrio  Casati,  the  Podesta  of  Milan. 

"  Yes,  news  that  would  never  have  come  to  me  unless 
I  had  been  friend  of  an  Austrian  officer,  for  which  you 
have  seen  me  flaunted  in  the  streets  and  hissed  off  the 
stage  of  La  Scala.  For  that  Austrian,  if  it  comes  to 
battle,  I  pray  you.  My  brothers,  in  case  by  any  hap  of 
war  Captain  Franz  Radetzky  falls  into  your  hands,  give 
him  quarter." 

" Sapristi!  Not  unless  he  surrenders  in  a  hurry!  " 
snarls  Colonel  Labat.  "  But  you  said  you  had  some  im- 
portant news  to  tell.  This  is  very  momentous,  asking 
mercy  for  a  single  Austrian  captain,  when  we  hope  to 
slay  these  white-coats  by  the  thousands." 

"  That  is  not  my  cause  for  calling  the  Committee  to- 
gether," answers  Da  Messina,  shortly.  "  To  me  has 
leaked  out  the  fact  that,  though  a.  warrant  has  been 
issued  for  my  arrest,  it  will  not  be  served  upon  me 
until  the  2Oth  of  this  month.  You  know  what  that 
date  means." 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  279 

"  By  Heaven,  the  day  the  arms  arrive ! "  cries  Lu- 
ciano. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  reason  Bolza  will  not  seize  me  until 
our  munitions  of  war  are  here.  From  it,  I  judge  he 
knows  the  arms  are  coming.  As  the  hay  wagons  drive 
through  the  Tosa  Gate,  the  Austrian  troops  will  have 
these  weapons  at  their  mercy;  and,  worse  than  that, 
Foscari  and  forty  brave  men  who  are  taking  their  lives 
in  their  hands  to  bring  them  to  us.  After  that,  we  will 
be  more  helpless  than  before.  We  will  not  even  have 
hope ;  for  be  assured  Carlo  Alberto,  though  he  has  fifty 
thousand  men  ready  upon  the  frontier,  will  not  strike 
for  us  till  we  strike  for  ourselves." 

At  this  there  are  some  very  pale  faces  about  the  lable ; 
and  one  says,  savagely :  "  By  Heaven,  Bolza,  by  your 
own  carelessness,  must  have  discovered  that  you,  Da 
Messina,  were  importing  the  arms !  " 

"  Misericorde,  we  are  ruined,  and  Italy  with  us !  " 
mutters  another.  "  By  you  we  are  doomed,  helpless, 
to  the  noose  or  fusilade !  " 

"  Peste!"  interjects  the  Podesta,  whose  face  is  very 
serious.  "  Reproaches  against  a  brave  man  who  has 
failed  do  not  help  our  cause." 

"  Who  will  not  fail  ?  "  cries  Da  Messina. 

"  Bravo !  "  cries  the  old  Republican  officer,  who  likes 
the  courage  of  conviction.  Then  he  asks,  grimly : 
"  What  gives  you  so  much  confidence,  my  young  man? 
Do  you  think  because  they  won't  let  you  be  a  tenor,  that 
makes  you  a  soldier  ?  " 

"  I  have  hope  because  the  populace,  without  arms  in 
their  hands,  were  ready  to  fly  at  their  tyrants  seven  days 
ago,"  replies  Carlo,  not  noticing  the  jibe.  "  You  know 
what  difficulty  we  had  to  keep  them  from  charging  on 
Radetzky's  palace.  In  addition,  we  have  this  chance — 
Bolza  is  now  sure  we  will  not  rise  till  after  the  2Oth! 
We  strike  on  the  i6th !  " 

"  Strike  without  arms !  "  gasps  one. 

"  Yes ;  strike  before  we  are  arrested  and  slain !  "  cries 


28O  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

Luciano.  "  Give  us  your  plan,  Carlo  my  boy,  though 
it  be  as  desperate  as  the  horse  of  Troy !  " 

"  Yes !  "  answers  Da  Messina,  excitedly.  "  Better  be 
stricken  down  fighting  than  die  by  executioner,  like  so 
many  who  have  raised  up  their  voices  for  liberty  with- 
out raising  up  their  arms !  Let  us,  with  naked  hands 
if  need  be,  fly  at  our  oppressors'  throats;  and  if  we 
must  fall,  fall  fighting !  " 

"  Diavolo,  it  will  be  with  naked  hands !  "  replies  Ca- 
sati.  "  We  have,  as  you  know,  but  seven  hundred  fow- 
ling-pieces, and  what  old,  medieval  weapons  we  can  take 
from  the  museums  of  the  Moldi  and  Poldi-Possoli  Pa- 
lazzos,  besides  some  hundred  logs  of  wood  bound  with 
steel  and  made  into  guns  for  barricades." 

"  Barricades !  That's  the  thing !  "  growls  the  old 
French  officer.  "  Without  them,  to  rise  were  mad- 
ness !  In  any  other  town  than  this  Milano,  I  should 
say :  Fly,  sauve  qui  pent !  But  here,  in  these  narrow, 
crooked  streets,  that  make  angles  every  fifty  paces,  we 
have  a  fighting  chance.  As  the  Austrians  force  their 
way  around  one  corner,  they  must  meet  a  barricade  at 
the  next.  And  that  being  defended  to  the  utmost,  when 
that  is  carried,  at  the  next  angle  in  the  street  they  must 
meet  another  barrier!  From  the  housetops,  even  our 
women  can  throw  down  stones  upon  them,  and  boiling 
water;  while  in  the  streets  we  men,  with  the  weapons 
that  God  permits  us,  grapple  at  close  quarters  with  Ra- 
detzky's  Croats!  For  this  will  be  no  battle  of  long- 
range  artillery,  but  a  hand-to-hand,  medieval  combat, 
where  brave  hearts  often  win  against  arms  of  precision. 
I  have  here,"  says  the  old  military  chieftain,  "  a  plan 
of  the  city,  showing  where  each  barricade  must  be 
erected." 

With  this,  to  the  wonder  of  every  other  conspirator 
save  himself,  he  digs  up  a  flag  in  the  ancient,  stone 
floor,  and  pulls  out  a  dusty  military  drawing.  "  Ex- 
pecting this  affair,"  he  chuckles,  "  it  took  me  two  years 
to  make  this  bonne  bouche  for  Radetzky.  Here  are 
flans  for  fifteen  hundred  barricades." 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  28 1 

"So  many?" 

"  It  is  because  there  are  so  many  that  we  may  win. 
To  be  precise,  I  have  noted  on  this  map  fifteen  hundred 
and  twenty-three,*  with  directions  where  to  find  con- 
venient material  for  each  one.  Tear  down  your  pal- 
aces, take  out  the  furniture,  heirlooms  of  centuries,  my 
Milanese  nobles !  "  he  laughs.  "  Rip  the  benches  out 
of  La  Scala,  my  tenor;  give  up,  tradespeople,  your 
shelves  and  counters  to  Milano ;  and  in  our  despair  we 
may  win!  Diable!  We  can't  have  our  omelet  unless 
we  break  some  eggs !  " 

"  By  Heaven,  you  are  right !  "  cries  Luciano.  "  We 
will  win !  We  will  strike  three  days  before  they  ex- 
pect!" 

"  But  who  will  ask  the  people  to  do  this  desperate 
thing  ?  "  demands,  in  choking  voice,  Casati,  a  man  of 
that  circumspection  which  comes  to  greater  age,  after 
hasty  consultation  with  Cattaneo  and  a  few  of  the  longer 
heads.  "  For  by  the  Virgin  I  can't  propose  such  a 
cruel,  hopeless  thing  to  our  poor  townsmen !  My  God, 
to  go  unarmed  against  disciplined  troops,  led  by  the 
ablest  officer  wearing  Austrian  uniform !  " 

"  Who  of  you  is  rash  enough  to  ask  the  Milanese?  " 
remarks  Cattaneo.  "  For  this  demand  will  have  to  be 
made  publicly ;  and,  if  they  do  not  rise,  the  man  who 
openly  suggests  rebellion  is  surely  dead  by  Austrian 
court-martial  within  two  hours !  " 

"  I  will  do  it !  "  cries  Da  Messina.  "  I  will  make 
sacrifice  for  any  lack  of  vigilance  that  gave  the  secret  of 
the  people  to  our  enemies.  To-morrow  night  there  is  a 
performance  at  La  Scala,  from  which  I  was  hissed  as 
a  traitor  on  Sunday.  On  Thursday  night  that  traitor 
will  say  to  Milano :  '  Rise !  Follow  me ! '  " 

"  Then  if  they  do,"  replies  Casati,  determinedly, 
though  his  face  is  very  grave,  "  we  will  cast  our  lot 
with  them  and  die  with  our  people !  " 

*  Fifteen  hundred  and  twenty-three  were  the  exact  number  of  barricades 
erected  during  the  five  days  of  the  most  awful  street  fighting  the  world  nas 
probably  ever  seen.— From  the  account  of  the  affair  by  Contessa-  -E.  M, 
Ctiartsco. — ED, 


282  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

Whereupon  the  matter  is  hastily  arranged.  The  plan 
of  barricades  mapped  out  by  the  old  Republican  officer 
is  cut  into  pieces,  and  each  piece  given  to  the  leader  of 
the  section  of  the  city  to  which  it  applies.  Arrange- 
ments are  made  by  the  Committee  to  back  up,  with  all 
the  force  they  command,  the  populace,  if,  persuaded  by 
Da  Messina,  they  rise  against  their  military  tyrants. 

So,  all  arrangements  being  completed,  they  separate. 
No  leader  of  them  a  coward  for  himself,  but  simply  fear- 
ing what  may  come  upon  his  friends;  and  there  are 
tears  in  the  Podesta's  eyes,  as,  wringing  Carlo's  hand, 
he  mutters :  "  God  bless  and  save  you,  my  boy ;  but  the 
Virgin  help  us  all !  Naked  hands  against  musketry, 
bayonets,  and  artillery !  God  pity  my  poor  people !  " 

But  the  younger  members  are  more  confident.  Ce- 
saresco  says  :  "  I  go  to-night,  if  I  can  pass  the  Austrian 
sentries,  to  bring  my  Brescian  peasants  to  Milan.  I 
will  stir  the  country  up.  In  but  a  few  days  the  moun- 
tains will  come  to  aid  the  plains !  " 

As  Da  Messina  goes  away,  Manara  joins  him,  and 
whispers,  hurriedly :  "  I  will  be  with  you  to  help  you 
on  to-morrow  night.  We  must  make  this  a  kind  of 
Sicilian  Vespers  for  the  Austrians." 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  walk  with  me  in  the  street,"  replies 
Carlo.  "  Remember  that  I  am  marked  by  Bolza's  po- 
lice. Don't  let  a  doomed  man  bring  danger  upon  who 
yet  is  safe." 

"  Diavolo !  I  shall  get  into  the  same  boat  with  you 
to-morrow  night !  "  remarks  Luciano,  as,  wringing  his 
friend's  hand,  he  goes  away. 

As  for  the  doomed  one,  the  plunge  being  taken,  he 
shakes  himself  like  a  water-dog  throwing  off  the  spray, 
and  strides  to  the  Via  Oriani,  to  get  such  comfort  as 
can  come  to  a  man,  who,  on  the  morrow,  is  to  be  his 
own  executioner,  from  the  tearful  kisses  of  a  despairing 
sweetheart,  and  three  big,  black,  strong,  unpatriotic 
cigars. 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  283 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE    HANDS   OF   THE    PEOPLE. 

At  two  o'clock  the  next  day,  Carlo  da  Messina  conies 
into  his  betrothed's  parlor,  his  face  unnaturally  pale,  his 
eyes  unnaturally  bright;  and,  once  or  twice  looking 
upon  the  beauty  of  his  love,  the  moving  of  his  full  mus- 
tache shows  that  beneath  it  a  lip  is  twitching. 

To  him,  very  tenderly,  she  says :  "  I — I  thought  you 
would  come,  my  own,  to  say  good-by  once  more  to 
me!" 

"  You — you  guess  ?  "  he  whispers,  the  veins  expand- 
ing in  his  hand  that  clasps  her  delicate  wrist. 

"  Only  this — that  some  time  before  the  bells  sound 

midnight,  that O  God,  Carlo,  you  believe  that 

you  will  be  no  more !  "  Her  voice  is  scarce  audible ; 
tears  are  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  washing  away  the 
traces  of  those  shed  before  he  came ;  her  soft  arms  are 
clinging  to  him,  as  she  pants  :  "  Misericorde,  what  shall 
I  do  without  you?  " 

"  This  is  what  I  feared,"  he  answers ;  then  begs,  in 
tortured  voice  :  "  Please  do  not  unman  me!  Let  me  at 
least  play  out  my  role !  " 

"  Then  let  me  play  it  out  beside  you !  " 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night  ?  "  she  begs.  "  I 
will  know !  Shall  I  go  shrieking  through  the  streets  in 
my  despair  like  a  mad  woman  at  some  vague,  indefinite 
horror  ?  Tell  me,  so  I  can  meet  it  more  bravely !  " 

"  Then,  at  La  Scala,  the  man  who  was  hissed  as 
traitor  from  its  stage  on  Sunday,  to-night  cries  out  to 
Milan,  though  unarmed,  to  rise !  Be  assured,  I  will  let 
the  poor  devils  know  what  desperate  odds  are  against 
them ;  and  if  they  hold  back  but  two  minutes,  you  can 
bury  me,  if  Bolza  will  give  you  my  body.  I  would  not 
have  told  you,  but  you  have  demanded  it,  my  betrothed. 
Pray  for  me — that's  all  you  can  do." 

"  No.     I  will  " — there  is  a  gasp  in  her  voice,  but  she 


284  ADTUENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

goes  on,  determinedly — "  I  will  see  you  do  it,  Carlo! " 

At  this,  turning  to  her,  he  mutters  desperately :  . "  I 
forbid  you !  " 

"  Why  ?     I— I  can  buy  a  seat !  " 

"  You  shall  not !  Don't  think  of  enduring  the  dan- 
ger that  may  come  upon  you  in  a  melee  in  that  theater ! 
The  better  chance  I  have  for  life,  the  less  will  be  your 
safety ;  for  it  will  begin  by  a  combat  within  the  Scala's 
very  walls !  " 

"  Pish !     There  will  be  no  Austrian  soldiers  there?  " 

"  But  there  will !  " 

"My  Heaven!" 

"  For  I  have  heard  from  the  manager  some  very  omi- 
nous news.  Zerconi  tells  me  that,  owing  to  the  dis- 
turbance Sunday  evening,  a  detail  of  infantry  will 
be  stationed  in  the  building ;  that  sentries  will  stand  at 
the  proscenium  arch.  'Tis  something  the  head  of  po- 
lice has  never  done  before !  " 

"  God  help  us !     They  must  suspect  you! " 

"  No.  If  they  did,  I  should  be  standing  in  front  of 
a  firing  party  ere  now.  It  is  some  additional  precau- 
tion of  Bolza,  who,  like  most  tyrants,  is  a  coward  un- 
derneath his  skin.  But,"  remarks  Pergolese,  his  face, 
in  its  misery,  lighting  up  a  little,  "  I  think  this  very 
thing  will  help  me  more  than  all  else.  This  enormity  of 
outrage,  that  even  in  their  amusements  the  Milanese 
must  feel  their  tyrant's  heel,  will  make  every  Italian  in 
that  audience  as  desperate  as  I.  But  you  must  not 
go!" 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  will  let  them  kill  you,  and  not 
be  there  to  die  with  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  feared.  Madre  di  Dio,  the  sight  of 
your  dear  face  will  unman  me !  You  shall  not  go !  " 

"  I  am  determined !  "  Her  eyes,  in  their  despair,  an- 
swer him,  defiantly. 

"  Diavolo!  You  forget,  if  I  am  your  lover,  I  am 
also  your  padrone !  " 

To  this  she  murmurs,  reproach  in  her  streaming  eyes : 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  285 

"  You,  my  Carlo,  answer  me  as  padrone,  whea  for  love 
of  thee  I  cry :  '  Let  me  die  with  you ! ' ' 

But  he  pleads :  "  For  God's  sake,  do  not  force  me  to 
make  you  remember  me,  not  as  your  lover,  but  as  your 
tyrant !  Give  me  your  promise  because  thy  betrothed 
asks  it,  as  the  last  sacrifice  you  can  make  for  him! 
Don't  refuse  me  perhaps  the  only  boon  you  can  now 
give  me  in  this  life !  " 

At  this  she  raises  her  head,  and  her  face  grows  white 
as  death,  though  a  damp  of  agony  is  upon  it.  She 
whispers,  her  bell-like  voice  becoming  hoarse :  "  Carlo, 
I  obey  you ! "  and  receives  from  him  a  muttered  farewell 
and  a  kiss  hot  as  fire  from  lips  cold  as  death. 

Then,  with  a  wrench,  he  is  gone ;  and  she,  running  to 
the  window,  looks  after  his  stalwart  figure,  as  he  walks 
up  the  street,  until  he  disappears  behind  the  buildings ; 
next  moans  :  "  I  am  bereft !  "  and,  throwing  herself 
down  upon  her  bed,  tosses  frantically  about,  till  the 
pillows,  sheets,  and  blankets  are  all  upon  the  floor.  Yet 
as  the  hours  go  by  she  can  not  endure  it.  She  cries 
to  herself :  "  Promise  or  no  promise,  I  see  what,  to- 
night, comes  to  my  heart  within  that  great  theater! 
Last  time  it  was  assaulted  cruelly ;  this  time,  perhaps, 
I  will  have  better  luck.  Perhaps  God  will  let  him  live ! 
Perhaps " 

Getting  Josepha  to  her,  she  says :  "  Go  out  and  buy 
a  box  at  La  Scala  for  to-night — not  one  of  the  upper 
ones,  if  you  can  avoid  it;  one  in  the  second  tier,  close 
to  the  stage,  if  possible." 

Coming  back  from  this  errand,  Josepha  remarks : 
"  Yes,  I  got  the  box  belonging  to  the  Moldi  family. 
For  some  reason,  none  of  the  ladies  will  be  there.  The 
Baron  himself  said  that  he  would  sit  in  the  pit  to- 
night. He  is  a  great  friend  of  that  young  Manara." 

"  Who  is  a  comrade  of  Pergolese !  "  cries  Estelle, 
a  little  hope  springing  up  in  her.  "  Will  you  go  with 
me,  dear  Josepha?" 

"  I  can't.     We've  got  some  girls  in  the  ballet,  and  I 


286  ADRIENNE   DE    PORTALIS. 

have  to  go  with  them;  but  I  think  Madre  Vicenza 
would  like  it  well  enough." 

So  Paola,  coming  down,  says :  "  My  little  princessa, 
I'll  go  with  you,  if  you  want  it.  I  can  con?e  without 
trouble.  I  shall  put  Eugenia  to  bed,  and  lo^V  her  up. 
Carlo,  like  a  good  boy,  has  given  me  her  indentures. 
She's  all  mine  now,  and  says  she  begins  to  love  me  as 
her  mother." 

So  it  comes  to  pass,  this  evening,  that,  just  as  the 
house  is  opened,  a  shrinking  figure,  in  a  plain,  dark 
dress,  and  wrapped  up  modestly,  is  followed  by  a  tall, 
gaunt  woman  up  one  of  the  great  stairways  of  La 
Scala,  and  hides  herself  behind  the  curtains  of  a  sec- 
ond-tier box,  so  near  the  stage  that,  on  the  opposite 
side,  she  can  look  behind  the  scenes. 

Here  she  sits  gazing  out  upon  the  empty  benches  of 
the  great  pit,  which  seems  slowly  filling  up ;  for  Paola, 
who  sits,  chatting,  behind  her  ear,  tells  her  the  cast  of 
the  opera  "  I  Lombardi  "  is  a  very  unimportant  one. 
"  Cospetto,  there's  not  a  singer  in  the  whole  bill,"  she 
sneers,  looking  at  the  programme. 

Then  the  curtain  goes  up;  and  seeing  the  Austrian 
sentries,  three  of  them  at  either  side  of  the  proscenium 
arch,  under  a  sergeant  and  a  corporal,  the  old  Italian 
woman's  eyes  blaze  like  fire.  She  snarls :  "  That's  the 
reason  no  one  is  here !  These  white-coats  on  the  stage ! 
Such  outrage  was  never  in  Milan  before!  Corpo  di 
Diaz'olo!  "  And,  with  the  awful  oath  floating  out  from 
her  old  lips,  gazes  at  the  Austrian  soldiers  as  if  she'd  like 
herself  to  slay  them.  Then  a  little  hope  comes  up  in 
the  fluttering  heart  of  Da  Messina's  sweetheart.  Others 
in  the  audience  seem,  by  their  excited  gestures,  to  look 
upon  these  Croats — who,  in  armed  menace,  are  in  plain 
sight  just  behind  the  scenes — with  about  the  same  vin- 
dictiveness  as  Paola. 

"  Carlo  will  have  friends  here,"  thinks  the  girl.  Then, 
gazing  at  the  long,  shining  muskets  and  gleaming  bay- 
enets  carried  by  the  soldiers,  she  guesses  they  will  soon 


AbRlENNE  DE   PORfALlS.  287 

be  directed  at  the  heart  she  loves,  and  feels  so  sick  and 
faint  she  nearly  slips  from  her  chair. 

The  performance  is  a  blank  to  her ;  she  scarce  knows 
what  the  orchestra  is  playing ;  even  the  audience  seems 
a  blur  to  her  eyes. 

But  shortly  after  the  second  act  begins,  the  emc'y 
benches  commence  to  fill. 

"  Ola!  Our  prudent  Milanese  are  buying  tickets  at 
reduced  prices !  "  scoffs  Vicenza.  "  But  how  few  wom- 
en !  By  San  Marco,  I  can't  see  over  a  dozen  silver 
combs  and  gay-colored  headdresses  in  the  house ! " 

Curiously,  also,  most  of  these  coming  in  now  are 
men  whose  faces  indicate  there  is  some  different  busi- 
ness in  them  than  amusement. 

"  Per  Baccho ! "  whispers  Paola,  her  eyes  astounded. 
"  Those  are  brigands  coming  into  the  pit !  They  look 
more  ferocious  than  the  Saracens  upon  the  stage.  I've 
noticed  twenty  times  a  stiletto  beneath  a  sash ;  and  that 
devil  right  below  us  wears  such  savage  pistols  under 
his  jacket.  Santa  Maria,  half  the  audience  are  armed  !  " 

These  words  bring  eager  hope,  mingled  with  hide- 
ous anxiety,  to  Estelle;  she  begins  to  guess  the  end 
is  coming!  She  looks  upon  the  stage,  and  sees  a 
strange  melange  of  Pagans,  Crusaders,  and  Lombar- 
dian  peasants ;  for  this  opera,  "  I  Lombardi,"  has  as 
improbable  a  plot  as  ever  graced  Italian  opera,  which  is 
saying  a  great  deal.  The  first  act  is  in  Milano;  the 
second  is  in  the  harem  of  a  Saracen  prince ;  after  that, 
toward  the  end  of  the  third  act,  is  the  grand  chorus  of 
Crusaders,  Pilgrims,  and  ladies  in  the  Lombardian  en- 
campment before  Jerusalem.  This  scene  is  now  be- 
fore Estelle,  and  to  her  floats  music,  grand,  inspiring, 
virile,  from  the  pen  of  Verdi,  who,  in  his  youth,  wrote 
the  passionate  melodies  by  which  he  will  be  remem- 
bered. 

These  exalted  strains  seem  to  get  into  the  warm  blood 
of  the  Italian  audience — and  also  into  Estelle's  beating 
heart.  "  If  my  hero  dies,"  she  thinks,  "  he  dies  with 


288  ADRIiNNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

the  music  in  his  ears  that  he  has  sung,  that  he  has 
loved!" 

But  all  the  time  her  eyes  gaze  about  for  the  being 
that  she  loves,  in  this  vast  audience — for  the  theater 
now  is  packed  from  pit  to  dome  by  a  black,  seething 
mass  of  men. 

As  she  looks  about  the  stage  for  Pergolese,  she  no- 
tices that  the  Austrian  sentries,  as  they  stand  at  ease 
on  either  side  of  the  proscenium  arch,  are  now,  appar- 
ently, greatly  favored  by  the  attentions  of  some  chorus 
girls. 

"  Diavolo!  Look  at  the  brazen,  unpatriotic  wenches 
making  amorous  love  to  their  enemies !  "  growls  Paola. 
"  If  one  of  my  girls  is  among  them,  she'll  have  a  beat- 
ing from  me  before  this  night  is  over!  Santa  Maria! 
The  wantons  are  ugly  as  their  actions !  See  the  knock- 
kneed  peasant  girl  making  love  to  that  accursed  ser- 
geant !  Basta,  that  Moslem  odalisque  has  the  legs  of  a 
wrestler !  Corpo  di  Gennaro !  The  immodest  strumpet 
has  let  the  corporal  kiss  her,  and  is  laughing  at  him ! 
But  hark,  my  little  one — listen  to  our  song  of  liberty !  " 

For,  at  this  moment,  that  grand  chorus  of  the  opera, 
"  O  Signore,  dal  tetto  natio ! "  rises  grandly  on  the  air ; 
and  one  of  the  chorus,  garbed  as  a  pilgrim  and  cloaked 
to  the  eyes,  sings  so  wondrously,  so  gloriously,  that  as 
his  tenor  voice  rings  out  with  exquisite  timbre  and 
potent  passion  over  both  audience  and  orchestra,  some 
of  the  Crusaders  stop  singing,  and  gaze  upon  him. 

"  Diavolo ! "  cries  a  man  in  the  gallery.  "  They've 
got  the  star  in  the  chorus !  " 

But  the  audience  now  joins  in  this  their  song  of  lib- 
erty, and  as  it  closes,  instead  of  applause,  silence  is  on 
the  house,  broken  only  by  the  subdued  twanging  of  a 
violin-string,  which,  having  been  broken,  is  being  has- 
tily repaired,  and  brought  to  pitch  by  a  fiddler  in  the 
orchestra ;  for,  striding  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  comes 
the  pilgrim  of  the  wonderful  voice !  He  throws  off 
his  cloak,  and  reveals  an  athletic  palmer  of  the  Middle 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS.  289 

Ages,  armed,  like  a  brigand,  with  a  long  butcher-knife 
and  two  big  blunderbusses  stuck  in  his  belt. 

Here,  recognizing  him,  a  few  commence  to  hiss 
"  Traditore ! "  but  these  are  quickly  hushed  by  the 
strong  hands  of  men  sitting  beside  them.  The  cry 
goes  up :  "  Listen  to  Pergolese !  He  doesn't  play 
pilgrim  in  the  chorus  to  earn  his  salary,  but  to  speak  to 
us!" 

With  this,  his  voice  for  a  moment  quite  low,  but  so 
distinct  that  every  word  finds  every  ear,  Da  Messina 
utters  a  very  curious  exhortation  to  mutiny  and  revolt. 

"  MILANESE,  FELLOW-SLAVES  :  I  am  here  to  tell  you 
that  the  arms  with  which  we  were  to  strike  our  tyrants 
down  will  never  come  to  us !  " 

The  answer  is  a  sad,  despairing  murmur,  and  Paola 
groans :  "  This  tenor  is  a  maniac,  like  all  the  others !  " 
And  a  boy  in  the  gallery  screams :  "  Fool,  Pergolese,  to 
get  yourself  shot  for  telling  us  bad  news !  " 

But  now  the  orator's  voice,  clear  as  a  bell,  comes  ring- 
ing up  in  patriot  enthusiasm :  "  Knowing  this,  our 
tyrants  are  neglectful.  But  one  company  of  infantry 
is  at  the  office  of  police,  and  one  on  guard  at  Radetzky's 
palace.  All  others  are  at  the  outside  barracks,  near 
the  walls,  or  at  the  Castello.  Now  is  our  time !  Fel- 
low-slaves, if  you  would  be  slaves  no  more,  up  with 
me,  and  strike  the  Austrians  this  very  night !  Here  is 
the  symbol  of  our  freedom !  "  and  throwing  to  the  air 
the  flag  of  Italy,  her  lover's  face  becomes  so  impas- 
sioned, so  inspired,  that  Estelle  thinks  Da  Messina  a 
god! 

But  now  two  Austrian  police  agents  are  coming  down 
the  aisle,  calling  to  the  sergeant,  who  has  looked  on 
scarce  believing  such  effrontery  to  be  real :  "  Shoot 
down  that  traitor !  " 

God  of  Despair !  The  sergeant  is  giving  some  hoarse 
orders,  and  the  long  muskets  of  the  white-coated  Croats 
are  being  leveled  at  the  man  she  loves ;  and  from  Es- 
telle's  pale  lips  arises  a  scream  that  might  awake  the 
dead :  "  Quick,  Carlo,  QUICK  !  " 


290  AfciUENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

And,  as  if  he  heard  her,  the  pilgrim,  who  has  already 
a  blunderbuss  in  his  hand,  shoots  the  Austrian  sergeant 
down.  Then  suddenly  the  amorous  chorus  girls,  draw- 
ing concealed  stilettos  from  their  manly  bosoms,  spring 
upon  the  Croats,  doing  them  to  death ;  and  the  man  who 
plays  the  drum  in  the  orchestra,  drawing  a  pistol, 
shoots  down  one  Austrian  police  agent,  and  Luciano 
Manara,  springing  from  his  seat,  fells  the  other  with  a 
walking-cane.  After  a  quick  medley,  six  white-coated 
soldiers,  with  their  corporal  and  sergeant,  lie  dead  and 
bloody  upon  the  stage  of  the  great  opera  house,  and 
beside  them  the  odalisque  of  stalwart  legs,  with  half  a 
dozen  Austrian  bayonets  stuck  through  his  patriot 
heart. 

"  Evoe,  those  chorus  girls  were  brave  Italian  men, 
who  have  slain  those  Austrian  dogs !  "  screams  Paola. 
"  This  is  a  riot !  This  is  a  rebellion !  "  then  shrieks : 
"  Bravissimo,  it  is  a  revolution !  " 

The  women  on  the  stage  have  flown  from  it,  leaving 
only  the  men,  who  seize  up  eagerly  the  weapons  and 
cartridge-boxes  of  the  dead  soldiers;  half  the  musi- 
cians have  disappeared;  the  others,  including  the  pa- 
triot-drummer, draw  knives  and  flourish  pistols.  These, 
headed  by  Pergolese,  spring  over  the  orchestra  into  the 
pit,  and  go  streaming  up  the  aisles  as  he  cries :  "  Fol- 
low me !  " 

So,  bearing  the  Italian  flag,  with  Manara  upon  one 
hand,  and  Casati,  the  Podesta,  on  the  other ;  and  some 
shouting,  "  Quick — the  police  office !  "  and  others  cry- 
ing, "  The  palace  of  the  Governor !  "  they  dash  from 
the  theater.  After  them  rushes  out  the  whole  audience 
of  La  Scala,  leaving  but  two  women  in  the  vast  edifice 
— one  a  fainting  girl,  the  other  a  gaunt,  old  dancing 
mistress  striving  to  revive  her. 

"  Wake  up !  "  begs  Paola.  "  For  the  Virgin,  Estelle, 
wake  up,  my  sweet  lamb!  Dio  mio!  They  will  put 
out  the  lights  on  us !  "  then  suddenly  cries :  "  What  are 
these  fools  doing?  Cospetto!  They  are  prying  up 
all  the  benches !  " 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  29 1 

For  a  hundred  men  are  now  ripping  the  seats  out  of 
pit  and  gallery,  and  taking  them  into  the  street  to  make, 
with  some  court  carriages  they  find  in  a  neighboring 
stable,  a  hasty  barricade  across  the  Via  Santa  Marghe- 
rita.  From  this  direction  now  comes  the  awful  sound 
of  two  quick,  rattling  volleys  of  musketry. 

Then  as  Estelle,  recovering  her  senses,  shudders, 
"  What  noise  is  that  ?  "  the  wounded  men  being  brought 
in  from  the  outside,  bloody  and  disfigured,  tell  her  that 
the  combat  has  begun. 

"  Don't  grieve  so,  little  one !  "  says  Paola ;  for  Estelle 
is  crying :  "  Carlo,  mio  Carlo !  " 

"  Corpo  di  Baccho,  thy  hero  is  as  safe  as  any !  Every- 
one who  calls  himself  an  Italian  and  a  man  in  Milano 
has  risen  with  him!  For,  peal  on  peal,  ever),  church 
bell  in  the  city  is  now  sounding  the  tocsin  of  revolt !  " 
Then  she  suddenly  asks :  "  Have  you  gone  mad,  my 
darling?  "  for  Estelle  has  picked  up  the  velvet  cushions 
of  their  box  and  tossed  them  on  to  the  now  empty 
floor  of  the  pit. 

"  No,"  answers  the  girl,  her  eyes  aflame.  "  They 
are  for  the  wounded  to  lie  upon.  Oh,  niisericorde ! 
They  are  bringing  them  in  now  !  Come  with  me !  We 
can  not  fight,  but  we  can  nurse  my  Carlo's  wounded 
heroes !  " 

As  they  run  down  to  aid  the  suffering,  a  wild  cry 
comes  from  the  outside,  mingled  with  volleys  of  mus- 
ketry ;  and,  a  moment  after,  a  man,  running  in,  says : 
"  They  have  swept  the  company  on  guard  away  front 
the  office  of  the  police !  "  and  another  shrieks,  excitedly : 
"  Bolza  has  fled !  " 

With  this  begins  the  woman's  part  in  battle.  The 
maimed  and  wounded  are  being  rapidly  brought  in  from 
the  street.  The  grand  theater  becomes  an  immense 
hospital.  With  them  comes  in  Theresa  Confanieri,  and 
other  angels  of  that  awful  time,  bringing  bandages,  med- 
icine, and  lint  from  Riva's  neighboring  drugstore.  The 
cushions  of  luxury,  torn  out  of  the  boxes,  become  the 
beds  of  the  suffering.  Among  these  angels  is  Estelle, 


292  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

trying  to  minister  with  her  fair  hands  to  the  wounded 
patriots  as  they  are  brought  in,  groaning. 

As  she  is  working,  a  man  suddenly  comes  in,  and 
cries :  "  We  have  captured  the  Governor's  palace,  and 
surprised  Radetzky !  He  has  fled  to  the  Castello !  " 

Some  hours  after,  the  morning  light  just  coming  in 
through  the  windows  of  La  Scala,  as  Estelle  is  bandag- 
ing a  half-delirious  silkweaver,  who  has  lost  a  hand,  a 
man  steps  to  her,  and  whispers :  "  Darling,  God  bless 
you  for  your  noble  heart !  " 

"  Carlo — safe !  "  she  cries.  But  yesterday  she  would 
have  swooned  in  his  arms ;  now  she  whispers :  "  One 
moment,  love,  until  I  have  finished  bandaging  this 
hurt." 

And  he  standing  by,  grimed  with  the  smoke  of  com- 
bat, gazes  tenderly  upon  her  ministry,  and,  after  the 
wounded  man  is  succored,  publicly  takes  her  in  his 
arms,  kisses  her  devoutly,  as  if  she  were  a  saint,  and 
introduces  her  to  the  Contessa  Cesaresco,  and  other 
ladies  who  chance  to  see  the  salute,  saying,  proudly : 
"  This  dear  one  is  to  be  my  bride  as  soon  as  Milan 
has  within  its  walls  no  Austrian !  " 

Then  oh,  how  happy  she  is,  even  with  the  noise  of 
distant  battle  in  her  ears ! 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   TOSA    GATE. 

As  Estelle  and  her  lover  go  off  to  breakfast  at  the 
nearby  Rebecchino,  this  seems  already  the  case ;  no 
Austrians  are  seen  in  the  streets ;  only  men  working, 
as  if  for  their  lives,  throwing  up  barricades.  As  these 
doff  their  caps  to  him,  even  in  the  hurry  of  military 
travail,  Pergolese  says,  proudly :  "  Behold,  my  towns- 
men love  me  once  more !  " 

"Santa  Maria!  They  worship  you — and  so  do  I, 
my  hero !  "  laughs  the  gaunt  Paola,  who  stalks  beside 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

them ;  and,  taking  Carlo  in  her  strong  arms,  lifts  him 
up,  and  kisses  him  on  both  cheeks;  then  chuckles: 
"  Don't  be  jealous,  my  betrothed  one,  at  old  Madre 
Vicenza  giving  her  boy  a  patriot  buss.  Prettier  women 
than  I  wanted  to  salute  Pergolese  at  La  Scala." 

But  Estelle  cries  :  "  Look,  they  are  all  smoking  now ! 
See,  Carlo,  every  one  has  pipe,  cigar,  or  cigarette !  " 

"  Yes ;  we,  last  night,  captured  the  government  to- 
bacco manufactory,"  replies  Da  Messina,  who  is  indulg- 
ing in  an  enormous  cigar. 

At  the  Rebecchino  it  is  the  same;  every  patriot  has 
a  halo  of  fumes  about  his  head.  Old  Colonel  Labat, 
made  more  suave  by  nicotine,  remarks,  between  puffs 
of  a  big  Bouquet  Elegancia :  "  You  did  that  very  well 
last  night,  my  tenor ;  but  should  have  kept  one  eye 
upon  that  Austrian  sergeant.  Diable,  it  was  a  woman's 
shriek  warned  you,  I  think !  " 

At  this,  Estelle's  face  grows  bright  as  the  rising  sun ; 
then  her  eyes  become  troubled  as  the  Republican  officer 
goes  on :  "  Some  fools  think  this  is  the  end  of  the 
affair ;  but  I  tell  you  it  has  not  yet  begun !  Cry  out 
to  every  one:  'Barricades!  Barricades!  BARRI- 
CADES !  " 

As  he  turns  away,  young  Manara,  tapping  Pergolese 
on  the  shoulder,  and  blowing  a  couple  of  rings  from  his 
lips,  says,  almost  hysterically :  "  Our  first  sweets  of 
liberty !  "  then  whispers :  "  You  and  I  are  assigned  to 
look  after  the  Tosa  Gate.  Meet  me  at  that  quarter  as 
soon  as  you  can." 

So,  after  a  very  hasty  meal,  Da  Messina  leads  his 
sweetheart  and  the  gaunt,  old  dancing  mistress  back  to 
the  Via  Oriani.  Here  more  barricades  are  going  up, 
and,  seeing  two  or  three  pianos  among  them,  Estelle 
whispers  to  her  lover :  "  Carlo,  can  I  sacrifice  mine  ?  I 
want  to  do  a  little ;  "  and  for  the  suggestion  gets  an- 
other kiss. 

"Santa  Maria!"  cries  the  old  woman.  "Everything 
that  is  heavy  enough  in  my  house  goes  into  them ! "  then 
suddenly  mutters :  "  Diavolo,  my  doorkeeper  is  work- 


294  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALTS. 

ing  on  those  barricades !  I  rrrast  look  after  my  caged 
dancing-bird !  "  and  runs  hastily  up-stairs,  where  she 
finds  Josepha  and  the  girls,  who  had  been  at  La  Scala, 
safe ;  likewise  Eugenia. 

But  la  contessa,  being  unable  to  restrain  some  tears 
of  despair  when  she  learns  that  Bolza  has  fled,  her  mis- 
tress comes  running  back  again  to  Pergolese  and  his 
sweetheart,  and  chuckles :  "  Eh  via !  I  have  discov- 
ered why  that  minx  up  there  dare  not  tell  me  the  name 
of  the  man  she  gallanted  with  at  the  Cova !  Cospetto, 
he  must  have  been  some  fellow  on  the  Austrian  po- 
lice!" 

At  this  Carlo  has  a  grim  smile,  and  Estelle  can't  help 
laughing,  as  Paola  cries :  "  Santa  Maria,  I'll  see  that 
the  friponne  doesn't  run  away  after  Bolza's  man !  " 

Whereupon,  conducting  her  apprentice,  whose  eyes 
are  now  despairing,  to  the  little  chamber  that  adjoins 
her  room,  Vicenza  commands :  "  Undress  and  go  to 
bed,  my  child.  You  won't  skip  into  the  street  with 
only  a  shift  upon  your  pretty  shoulders.  Don  the  little 
chimese — that  one  cut  tres  decollete,  my  sweet."  And 
Eugenia,  not  daring  to  disobey,  Paola  takes  all  her 
clothes  from  her,  remarking,  grimly :  "  Now  I  can  go 
with  easy  mind  to  kill  your  Austrian  friends." 

So,  the  doors  of  both  rooms  being  carefully  locked 
upon  her,  la  contessa  spends  five  awful  days  in  bed, 
listening  to  the  roar  of  artillery,  and  the  volleys  of  mus- 
ketry, and  the  sounds  of  combat,  as  it  ebbs  and  flows 
through  the  streets  of  the  city ;  at  one  moment  cursing 
Bolza,  who  has  left  her  to  her  fate ;  at  the  next  shud- 
dering: "  If  she  discovers,  that  awful  patriot  Vicenza 
will  cut  my  throat !  " 

But  Paola  is  now  occupied  in  slaying  other  enemies; 
from  a  neighboring  housetop,  assisted  by  her  girls,  she 
is  showering  anathemas,  brickbats,  and  boiling  water 
upon  the  Austrians  as  they  attack  the  little  barricade 
that  closes  the  Via  Oriani.  But  this  is  merely  a  pre- 
liminary scuffle. 

Early  in  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  the  i8th  of 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS.  295 

March,  after  demanding  the  surrender  of  the  city,  Ra- 
detzky  makes  his  first  attack  in  force. 

An  almost  straight  street  runs  direct  from  the  Cas- 
tello  to  within  some  fifty  yards  of  the  Town  Hall  of 
Milan.  In  this  straight  street,  his  movements  masked 
by  an  awful  storm,  Radetzky  makes  his  assault;  the 
lightnings  and  thunders  of  the  heavens  dimming  that 
of  the  Austrian  artillery,  before  which  the  patriot  bar- 
ricades go  down  like  paper;  the  ruins  of  these,  being 
strongly  assailed  by  a  column  of  disciplined  troops,  are 
carried  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet ;  and  so,  getting  lodg- 
ment near  the  Broletto,  Radetzky  finally  captures  the 
Town  Hall,  with  three  hundred  prisoners,  and  sends  a 
courier  to  his  Emperor  that  he  has  Milano  once  more 
in  his  grasp. 

But  the  next  day,  Sunday,  having  massed  all  his 
troops  at  the  various  gates  of  the  town,  every  one  of 
which  he  holds,  the  Austrian  Marshal  directs  a  general 
assault  upon  the  rebellious  city,  intending,  by  his  col- 
umns fighting  their  way  from  every  gate  and  all  con- 
verging upon  the  Plaza  il  Duomo,  to  squeeze  the 
patriots  within  a  grasp  of  steel. 

For  this  purpose  he  has  some  eighteen  thousand 
veterans,  less  some  six  hundred  lost  on  the  night  ot 
the  riot,  and  in  the  assaults  on  the  Broletto.  Fighting 
against  a  populace  that  are  only  armed  with  some  few 
muskets  obtained  when  the  police  station  and  Radetz- 
ky's  palace  were  captured,  and  the  archaic  weapons 
taken  from  the  palaces  of  the  nobility,  Radetzky  would 
surely  win,  were  it  not  for  the  barricades. 

These  have  sprung  up  innumerable,  as  if  by  magic, 
in  every  narrow,  crooked  street.  In  them  are  mixed 
the  heirloom  furniture  of  the  nobility,  priceless  antiques 
of  medieval  art,  together  with  the  unplaced  masonry 
of  the  Adda  palace,  the  counters  of  the  shopkeepers, 
and  the  paving-stones  of  the  streets ;  for  the  very  foun- 
dations of  this  hapless  city  are  now  uprooted  to  save  it. 
All  these  are  defended  with  that  desperation  which 


296  ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS. 

makes  men  who  say  "  We  will  be  slaves  no  more !  "  so 
formidable,  so  invincible. 

So  the  awful  fight  goes  on,  Radetzky  holding  the 
walls  and  all  the  gates ;  but  driven  back  each  time  he 
tries  to  force  his  way  over  barricades  that  seem  to  his 
soldiers  innumerable.  If  one  is  captured,  the  next  is 
held,  and  then  the  next,  until  even  the  savage  Croats 
give  back  from  boiling  oil  poured  on  their  heads  from 
housetops  by  women  and  boys ;  while  in  the  street  be- 
low fight  the  hoi-polloi  of  Milan  side  by  side  with 
young  nobles  in  their  velvet  coats,  women  jostling 
men  for  the  honor  of  killing  an  Austrian. 

At  night  the  red  glow  of  burning  buildirgs  lights  up 
these  horrors;  while  over  all  rises  the  clang  of  bells  in 
every  campanile,  signaling  where  the  danger  is  most 
imminent. 

All  this  time  Estelle  works  like  an  angel  over  the 
ever-increasing  wounded  in  La  Scala  theater ;  and  now 
this  is  so  crowded  that  the  churches  are  put  to  the  same 
use.  Each  day,  as  the  intervals  of  the  combat  permit, 
her  lover  comes  to  her,  and  each  time  she  gives  a  cry 
of  joy.  He  is  to  her  as  if  returned  from  the  dead. 
Each  time  he  warns  her  not  to  leave  the  hospitals ;  for 
she  has  cried  to  him  :  "  Let  me  go  with  you,  my  Carlo ! 
I  would  be  happier  looking  at  you  fight  than  thinking 
what  may  come  to  you  unknown  to  me." 

To  this  he  sternly  says :  "  You  must  not !  "  and  tells 
her  of  such  horrors  in  the  suburbs,  where  women  have 
been  captured  by  the  Croats,  who  have  changed,  under 
defeat,  from  medieval  soldiers  to  ferocious  savages,  that 
she  obays  him,  and  keeps  from  the  actual  scene  of 
combat. 

So,  the  time  rolls  on ;  the  city  kept  from  all  commu- 
nication with  the  outside  world,  save  by  toy  balloons 
that  they  send  up,  with  messages  attached,  saying: 
"  Get  us  just  one  porta,  and  we  are  free !  "  For  all  Lom- 
bardy  is  now  on  fire ;  but  the  city  starves,  every  inch  of 
its  walls  and  all  its  gates  held  by  the  Austrians. 

So  Estelle  labors  and  starves  with  other  women  until 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTAL'iS.  297 

the  fifth  day,  in  the  morning,  when  Da  Messina's  man- 
ner makes  her  anxious.  At  noon  he  comes  not,  and 
his  sweetheart's  eyes  are  anguished,  as  she  chances  to 
see  young  Luciano  Manara  talking  very  earnestly  to 
the  Podesta  on  the  Via  Santa  Margherita.  This  youth, 
once  the  gayest  dandy  in  Milan,  at  present  is  in  sorry 
plight;  his  velvet  coat  is  rags;  half  his  mustache  is 
burnt  off  by  powder;  his  once  immaculate  boots  are 
cut  to  pieces  and  soaked  with  the  blood  of  conflict.  His 
face  has  that  on  it  which  makes  Estelle  stride  up  to  him, 
after  Casati  has  turned  away,  and  whisper,  with  white 
lips :  "  Carlo  da  Messina,  your  comrade  and  my  affi- 
anced, commands  with  you  at  the  Tosa  Gate  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Signorina !  "  answers  the  young  man, 
bowing  with  his  old-time  courtly  grace. 

"  Carlo  is  dead !  "  she  whispers,  for  something  in  his 
manner  dismays  her. 

"  No." 

"But  you  fear  for  him?" 

"  I  fear  for  every  patriot.  Each  one  is  my  brother," 
remarks  Luciano ;  then,  for  the  girl  is  walking  on  with 
him,  he  says,  warningly  :  "  The  streets  are  filled  with 
horrors  near  the  Tosa  Gate.  The  air  is  full  of  bullets. 
I  beg  you  keep  away  from  it."  But  she  still  keeping  by 
his  side,  he  pauses,  and  begs,  very  earnestly :  "  Please 
do  not  come !  In  fact,  as  leader  there,  I  command  you 
not  to !  " 

"  You  make  a  military  order ;  you  have  some  mili- 
tary reason." 

"  Yes.  In  an  hour  we  assault  the  Gate.  It  will  be 
too  awful  an  affair  for  any  woman  to  look  upon !  " 

"  My — my  Carlo !  "  she  gasps.     "  He — he " 

"  He  will  lead  with  me,  and  take  his  chance  like  any 
other  brave  man,  my  dear  young  lady!  Pray  for  us 
all — some  of  us  will  stand  before  God  this  day !  But 
you  must  excuse  me ;  I  only  left  our  men  to  receive  the 
last  orders  of  the  Podesta."  And  raising  gallantly  a 
hat  with  an  Austrian  bullethole  through  it,  and  half 


298  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

its  brim  cut  off  by  an  Imperial  sword,  Luciano  hurries 
toward  the  Tosa  Porta. 

"  Carlo  leads  the  assault !  "  mutters  Estelle,  a  frenzy 
of  dread  within  her.  "  That's  the  reason  he  came  not 
at  noon.  O  God,  I  shall  not  see  him  before  he  dies !  " 
Then,  half  frantic  with  her  fears,  she  runs  after  Ma- 
nara,  keeping  well  behind  him  lest  he  may  turn  her 
back ;  and  so  after  a  little  approaching  the  place  of  hor- 
ror, begins  to  find  dead  bodies  in  her  path,  one  of  a 
lady  whose  hands  have  been  cut  off  to  gain  her  rings 
by  barbarous  Croats ;  for  this  street  has  been  taken  and 
retaken  many  times. 

Now  she  is  almost  in  the  combat.  A  pastry-cook, 
still  wearing  his  white  cap,  but  armed  with  musket, 
falls,  shot,  almost  beside  her.  They  are  carrying  two 
or  three  groaning  wounded  into  the  doorway  opposite. 
Then  from  house  to  house  she  glides,  and  crouches 
down  in  the  shelter  of  a  wall,  almost  destroyed  by  Aus- 
trian cannon,  to  look  out  on  the  combat  of  the  Tosa 
Gate. 

This  is  the  weakest  of  all  the  Austrian  portals;  but 
it  has  some  open  ground  between  it  and  the  houses. 
This  space  has  been  gained  and  occupied  by  the  Italians. 

Just  here  a  strong  hand  taps  her  on  the  shoulder. 
Looking  up,  she  sees  old  Labat,  decked  in  a  Repub- 
lican uniform  of  Napoleon's  Army  of  Italy.  "  Sac  a 
papier! "  he  snarls.  "  What  in  the  devil's  name,  girl, 
brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  Da  Messina's  betrothed " 

"  Yes,  yes — I  know  all  that.  Too  gallant  a  chap  for 
a  tenor." 

"  I — I  came  to  see  him  die." 

"  Tonne  . . .  Dicu!  Thou  art  like  to  get  thy  wish! 
Tired  of  him  before  the  orange  blossoms,  eh !  "  he 
chuckles.  "  Well,  thy  lad's  got  as  good  a  chance  of 
death  as  anyone — better,  I  think !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu!" 

"  Do  you  see  those  movable  barricades — my  inven- 
tion— that  slowly  crawl  nearer  and  nearer  that  Gate. 


ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALTS. 

which  spouts  out  bullets  at  them?  Among  the  men 
behind  it  is  the  hero  you  have  come  to  see  die.  Diable, 
it  is  very  close  now !  They  have  got  nearly  up  to 
that  outer  bulwark!  And  look  up  the  rampart — they 
have  gained  the  wall  there,  and  are  making  a  flank 
attack!  Sacre  bleu!  They  have  given  me  the  com- 
mand of  the  reserves,"  he  sobs,  tears  rolling  down  his 
scarred  cheeks,  "  because  I'm  seventy-seven,  and  they 
say  too  old  to  lead  an  escalade!  When  those  fellows 
ahead  of  us  make  assault — the  forlorn  hope  it  is 
called,"  says  the  old  disciplinarian,  "  and  are  all  killed, 
we,  the  second  line,  come  up,  and  settle  the  broken 
kaiserlicks! " 

"  All  killed !  "  cries  the  girl,  and  looks  with  those 
tearless  eyes  that  women  have  when  hope  has  gone, 
upon  the  dread  scene  before  her;  the  Tosa  Gate, 
manned  by  the  Imperial  infantry,  spouting  death  upon 
those  movable  barricades  of  plank  and  beams  torn  out 
of  houses  that,  running  upon  rounded,  wooden  logs, 
have  now  crawled  very  close  to  the  Austrians. 

"  If  they  could  use  artillery  upon  us,  we  could  never 
get  there ;  but  I  laid  the  plan,  little  one !  "  growls  the 
old  Republican.  "  See,  the  boys  have  unmasked  that 
wooden  cannon,  and  blown  the  old  gates  off  their  rusty, 
hinges !  "  Then  he  suddenly  cries :  "  Diable!  Fool, 
no  human  being  can  get  through  that  hell  of  bullets 
and  live !  Don't  you  see  they  are  going  to  assault  the 
Gate  now ! " 

For  Estelle,  forgetting  even  the  fear  of  death,  is  run- 
ning toward  the  man  she  loves.  If  she  says  anything, 
it  is  drowned  in  the  crash  of  musketry  that  now  flames 
from  the  portals  of  the  Tosa ! 

Just  then  the  hero  she  loves  springs  over  the  barri- 
cade on  the  side  of  the  Austrians,  crying :  "  Milanese, 
follow  me !  " 

And  they  do  follow  him !  In  one  of  those  indescrib- 
able enthusiasms  such  as  came  when  Napoleon  sprang 
before  his  grenadiers  upon  the  Bridge  of  Lodi,  these 


3<X>  ADRIENNE   DE    PORTALIS. 

half-mad  patriots,  with  a  wild  yell,  spring  into  the  arms 
of  death — and  win ! 

No  disciplined  military  mind  expected  such  a  crazy 
attack.  Though  half  of  them  go  down,  the  other  half 
gain  the  Tosa  Gate.  Here,  seeing  military  opportunity, 
Labat  springs  forward,  waves  his  sword  to  the  second 
line,  and  shouts :  "  The  Old  Guard  at  Marengo !  " 

With  a  howl  of  victory  and  rage,  the  artisans,  silk- 
weavers,  and  ironsmiths  of  Milan  fly  after  this  old 
Republican,  and  beat  back  the  white-coat  re-enforce- 
ments, meeting  bayonets  with  knives,  stilettos,  and 
hammers.  Down  goes  the  Imperial  flag  upon  the 
Porta  Tosa! 

But  as  they  scream  "  Milan  is  free !  "  an  Austrian 
officer,  just  outside  the  Gate,  is  bending  over  a  wounded 
patriot.  To  him  is  running  Estelle,  crying :  "  Franz ! 
God  bless  you ;  you  have  saved  him !  " 

But  he  doesn't  answer  her ;  for  at  him  are  spring- 
ing half  a  dozen  Milanese  with  gleaming  knives. 

Then,  as  the  Imperialist,  getting  his  back  to  a  wall, 
with  sword  uplifted,  prepares  to  sell  his  life  at  good 
cost  to  his  opponents,  Manara,  rushing  in  front  of  his 
men,  puts  aside  the  weapons  directed  at  the  German's 
heart,  and  cries :  "  I  saw  you  beat  up  the  bayonets 
of  half  a  dozen  Croats  who,  as  they  fled,  would  have 
stabbed  Carlo  to  death  !  No,  not  even  surrender  from 
you,  who  stayed  to  save !  Only  free  conduct  to  the 
Austrian  lines !  " 

"  I  fear  it  is  but  little  use,"  mutters  Radetzky ;  and, 
stooping  down,  he  kisses,  sadly,  the  white,  upturned 
face  of  the  man  lying  before  him  on  the  rampart. 

"  Then  give  me  my  dead  !  "  moans  Estelle,  and  sinks 
down,  bending  over  the  body  of  Da  Messina ;  but  sud- 
denly hope  flames  in  her  eyes,  she  whispers :  "  There 
is  life  in  him  yet !  My  love  shall  make  him  live !  " 

So,  they  bear  the  wounded  man  to  the  old  house  in 
the  Via  Oriani,  where  Estelle,  with  that  tenderness  and 
devoted  care  that  only  women  can  give,  nurses  her 
wounded  hero  very  slowly  back  to  life. 


ADRIENNE   DE  PORTALIS.  3OI 

Some  four  weeks  after  this,  Lombardy  being  free  of 
Austrians,  and  all  Milan  rejoicing — for  Carlo  Alberto's 
Sardinian  army  of  fifty  thousand  men  having  just 
passed  through  the  town — Estelle,  using  the  gold  that 
had  been  given  to  her  by  Da  Messina,  takes  her  conva- 
lescent lover  by  easy  stages  up  into  the  Swiss  moun- 
tains, where  their  summer  breezes  very  slowly  bring 
health  to  a  man  who,  as  he  lies  by  the  shores  of  Lake 
Lucerne,  has  the  misery  of  hearing  of  the  patriot  cause 
cast  to  the  ground  by  foolish  dissensions  after  victory  is 
gained. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE    CAPTAIN    OF   GARIBALDIANS. 

About  a  year  after  this,  in  early  summer,  when  the 
snows  have  melted  and  the  Alpine  roses  are  blooming, 
one  evening  in  the  little  theater  of  Geneva  is  sung  the 
opera  of  "  Somnambula,"  in  which  Estelle  makes  her 
debut,  singing  the  brilliant  role  of  the  peasant  girl  very 
sweetly.  The  house  is  crowded,  for  to  the  name  of  the 
debutante  is  added  that  of  Pergolese — the  first  time  he 
has  sung  outside  of  Italy. 

After  the  performance,  a  gentleman,  coming  out,  re- 
marks :  "  That  young  lady  who  sang  Anina  is  not  so 
bad ;  but  what  support  she  had !  Didn't  you  notice 
how  the  great  Pergolese  restrained  his  marvelous  voice 
in  all  the  duo  passages — how  he  upheld  her  less  brilliant 
efforts  at  loss  to  his  own  success?  That  great  artist 
sacrificed  himself  for  the  beautiful  woman  with  whom 
he  sang." 

"Diable,  he  ought  to !  "  a  Frenchman  replies.  "They 
were  married  only  a  week  ago  in  the  little  church  up 
there.  Parbleu,  if  he  drowned  her  sweet,  little  voice, 
the  pretty  bride  might  pull  Pergolese^  magnificent 
mustache !  " 

But  this  idea  of  sacrifice  is  not  unknown  to  the  prima 


302  ADRIEXNE   DE   PORTALlS. 

donna;  and  in  their  apartments  at  the  Hotel  de  1'Ecu 
she  comes  to  her  husband,  who  is  sitting  smoking, 
and,  taking  with  her  fair  fingers  the  cigar  from  his 
lips,  replaces  it  with  a  bride's  kiss;  then  nestles  upon 
his  knee,  and  says :  "  Do  you  remember  the  first  time 
I  sat  here,  Carlo?  'Twas  in  Marseilles,  the  morning 
after  you  gave  me  your  love." 

"  Diavolo,  times  have  changed  since  then !  "  he  sighs. 
"  Then  I  had  an  estate,  a  home,  friends,  and  a  country ; 
now  all  are  swept  from  me !  My  comrades  of  our  rev- 
olution— for  we  won  fair  enough ;  but  afterward,  by 
foolish  dissensions,  destroyed  ourselves — are  fugitives 
and  have,  like  me,  to  earn  their  bread  and  butter  in 
foreign  lands." 

"  And  don't  have  as  good  chance  as  you  of  doing  it, 
my  Carlo !  "  says  Estelle,  encouragingly.  "  You  know 
you  have  offers  of  engagements  in  every  great  cap- 
ital of  Europe.  Franz,  with  his  bridal  gift,  wrote  that 
they  even  wanted  you  to  sing  in  Vienna — if  you  would 
only  take  the  oath  of  allegiance." 

"  Never !  "  he  replies,  in  such  a  padrone  tone  that 
Estelle  gives  her  ogre  a  kiss. 

"  Apropos,"  he  remarks,  with  a  little  smile,  "  I  have 
been  offered  an  engagement  in  Des  Italiennes." 

"Paris!  Mon  Dien!"  the  bride  cries,  excitedly; 
then,  after  a  moment's  delight,  her  eyes  fill  with  tears; 
she  sighs :  "  If  you  accept,  we  shall  be  separated ;  "  and 
her  arms  close  about  him. 

"  I  am  not  altogether  sure  of  that." 

"  I  dare  not  go,"  she  falters.  La  Baronne  de  Por- 
talis  might  get  put  in  prison.  But,  if  you  demand,  I 
will  take  the  risk,  even  of  French  justice,  to  be  near 
you,  my  adored  !  " 

"  Cospetto,  there  is  no  risk !  " 

"  No  risk  ?  Impossible !  "  Then,  seeing  a  peculiar 
expression  on  her  husband's  face,  the  bride  asks,  eager- 
ly :  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  Adrienne,  La  Baronne  de  Portalis,  has 
been  tried  for  her  crimes !  " 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  303 

"  'Mm  "Bleu !  Tried !  How— when  they  have  never 
caught  me?"  The  pretty  criminal  is  getting  fright- 
ened now. 

"  No.  They  have  a  curious  way  in  France  of  some- 
times trying  fugitives  from  justice,  without  their  pres- 
ence, in  contumacy."  * 

"  I — I  have  been  convicted !  Have  I  been  sentenced 
to  prison  or  to  death  ?  "  Carlo  can  feel  the  exquisite 
form  in  his  arms  thrill  and  tremble. 

"  Neither !  But  your  ex-mother-in-law  has  been  sen- 
tenced to  pay  fifty  thousand  francs  for  defaming  your 
character.  La  Baronne  de  Portalis  has  been  declared 
innocent!  I  wrote  to  Cremieux  some  time  ago,  asking 
him  to  get  such  trial  if  possible,  and  then  to  have  you 
represented  by  an  able  avocat.  Louis  Napoleon,  now 
President  of  the  French  Republic,  is  very  favorable  to 
Italian  refugees.  Your  case  was  tried ;  your  accusers 
did  not  have  a  leg  to  stand  on.  You,  my  darling,  are 
now  free,  and  rich !  I  believe  you  have  something  like 
fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs.  The  estate  was  worth 
fighting  for,  it  seems." 

"  Oh,  you  have  done  this  for  me !  "  and  her  arms 
close  upon  him  again. 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  Am  I  not  still  thy  padrone, 
and  have  to  look  after  my  bound-girl's  interests  ?  You 
see,  you  had  no  reason  for  your  flight.  This  news  came 
to  me  to-day ;  I  didn't  tell  you  before,  fearing  it  might 
agitate  you  on  your  debut — you  should  never  have  run 
away." 

"  Oh,  fancy,  if  I  had  not,  Carlo,  what  would  life  have 
been  to  me !  " 

"  Or  to  me !  "  he  whispers,  tears  coming  into  his  eyes. 
"  Thank  God  your  fears  made  you  a  fugitive !  " 

With  wealth  arises  a  new  idea  to  the  brain  of  the 


*  This,  we  believe,  is  a  feature  of  continental  jurisprudence  and  unknown 
in  Anglo-Saxon  practice,  but  it  is  quite  common  in  France.  A  certain 
prominent  American,  who  once  was  candidate  for  the  office  of  President  of 
the  United  States,  was  tried  for  some  railroad  bond  transaction  in  which  he 
had  taken  part  in  Paris,  and  sentenced  en  contumace  to  imprisonment 
after  he  had  left  France.  It.is  needless  to'sayjhe  never  returned  to  Paris.— ED. 


304  ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

bride ;  she  asks :  "  You  have  accepted  the  engage- 
ment at  Des  Italiennes?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  would  like,  Carlo,"  she  murmurs,  very  hesi- 
tatingly, "  with — with  the  consent  of  tnio  padrone  " — 
she  softens  the  word  with  a  pretty  kiss — "  to  leave  the 
stage,  and  sing  only  for  your  ears." 

"  What  makes  you  wish  this  ?  "  he  asks,  anxiety  run- 
ning over  his  features. 

"  My  voice  will  never  make  -me  very  celebrated. 
That  awful  night  in  La  Scala,  when 'I  screamed  to  you 
to  save  yourself  from  the  Austrian  sergeant,  something 
in  my  agony  left  me,  some  little  straining  of  my  throat, 
perhaps  in  that  shriek  I  gave;  it — it  will  never  come 
back  to  me,  my  Carlo." 

"  Good  God,  was  it  for  love  of  me  you  lost  that 
perfect  voice  ?  "  he  falters. 

"  Ah,  that  was  nothing,"  she  says,  very  sweetly.  "  I 
would  have  given  my  life  as  well.  But  you  have 
noticed  it?  I  thought  so.  To-night  I  wept  in  my 
heart,  as  I  said :  '  In  order  to  make  me  acceptable,  Per- 
golese  is  destroying  himself.'  I — I  had  once  hoped, 
darling,  that  my  voice  might  mingle  with  yours ;  but 
let  me  give  you  my  applause  from  the  boxes,  and  live, 
not  for  the  public,  but  for  you." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  answers  il  cavaliere.  Tears 
are  in  his  eyes,  for  he  has  felt  the  supreme  glories  of  tre- 
mendous artistic  success,  and  he  knows  what  his  sweet- 
heart bride  is  missing. 

Then  he  says  to  her :  "  To-morrow  we  take  the  dili- 
gence for  Lyons.  I  who  led  you  forth  a  fugitive  will 
take  you  back,  free  and  untrammeled,  to  thy  native 
land." 

Some  months  later,  at  the  close  of  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  Paris,  after  that  capital  had  bowed  down 
to  Pergolese's  glorious  voice  and  said,  "  Italy  has  sent 
to  us  a  second  Rubini,"  he  passes  out,  with  Estelle  upon 
his  arm,  from  his  dressing-room,  receiving  on  the  stage 
the  congratulations  of  his  fellow-artists.  As  he  reaches 


ADRIENNE   DE   PORTALIS. 

the  stage  entrance  of  Des  Italienes,  a  strong  arm  taps 
him  on  the  shoulder,  a  frank,  German  voice  says: 
"  Carlo,  my  boy,  I  got  a  month's  leave,  and  came 
to  Paris  to  hear  thy  voice  again."  With  this,  the 
crowd,  who  have  gathered  about  the  stage  entrance  to 
see  the  great  Italian  tenor  and  patriot,  wonder  why  this 
exile  from  Milan  takes  to  his  heart  a  man  in  the  glitter- 
ing uniform  of  an  Austrian  major ;  and  why  this  beau- 
tiful lady  by  his  side  cries'"  Franz !  Dear  old  Franz !  " 
and  throws  her  arms  about  the  warrior,  and,  kissing 
him,  murmurs  :  "  Thank  you  for  my  husband's  life !  " 

"  Carlo,  mein  bruder,"  remarks  Radetzky,  "  thy  voice 
is  more  marvelous  than  ever !  "  as  the  three  drive  to 
Meurice's,  where  Da  Messina  has  apartments.  Here, 
over  a  little  supper — for  Pergolese  has  declined  all  other 
invitations,  though  he  has  many — the  trio  are  together, 
as  on  the  Via  Oriani.  To  Franz,  Da  Messina  tells 
the  story  of  Adrienne  de  Portalis. 

"  Thy  other  bound-girl's  fate,  Pergolese,  is  perhaps 
as  wonderful  as  thy  Estelle's,"  remarks  the  German, 
laughingly. 

"  Eugenia !  "  screams  Adrienne,  for,  with  her  liberty 
and  estates,  Estelle  has  taken  back  her  Christian  name. 

"  Yes.  You  see,  our  dancing-girl  was  probably  not 
too  happy  with  the  grim,  old  Vicenza,"  continues  the 
Austrian  officer,  "  and  was  much  pleased  when,  with 
our  troops,  Bolza,  the  head  of  the  secret  police,  came 
back  to  power  in  Milan.  Excuse  me,"  he  chuckles; 
"  but  this  story  is  the  laughter  of  every  one  in  Lom- 
bardy.  To  Bolza,  la  contessa  fled,  and  cried  :  '  I  did 
thy  mission !  You  promised  me  immunity  from  Aus- 
trian law ! ' 

' '  Certainly,  Madame  la  Comtesse,'  replied  the  suave 
head  of  police,  who,  having  squeezed  the  orange,  was 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  rind.  '  I  have  scratched  your 
name  off  our  books  ;  you  are  free  from  us.' 

"  With  this,  thanking  him,  with  tears  of  joy  in  her 
eyes,  Eugenia  turned  to  go  her  way;  but  at  the  very 
door  stood  her  grim,  old  taskmistress,  Vicenza,  perhaps 


306  ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS. 

having  hint  from  Bolza.  In  she  came,  and  said :  '  1 
claim  this  apprentice  under  the  municipal  law  of 
Milan!' 

"  '  Woman,'  screamed  la  contessa,  savagely,  '  take 
your  vile  hands  off  of  me !  I  am  free ! ' 

"  But  Bolza  remarked :  '  Let  me  see  the  contract ; ' 
and,  looking  it  over,  said :  '  This  document  is  un- 
doubtedly official  and  correct,  on  stamped  paper.  We 
do  not  interfere  with  municipal  laws.  Take  thy  ap- 
prentice, old  Madre  Vicenza,  and  make  her  as  good  a 
dancer  as  her  mother  was.' 

"'Diavolo!'  cried  old  Paola.  'Is  not  this  noble 
blood  I  have  my  grasp  upon  ?  '  For  already  the  weep- 
ing contessa  was  in  her  stalwart  hands. 

"  '  As  noble  as  her  mother's,  who  was  considered 
the  best  ballerina  in  Trieste.' 

"  And  so,  being  led  away,  screaming  and  stamping 
her  feet,  to  the  old  house  in  the  Via  Oriani,  your  pretty 
spy,  Da  Messina,  has  been  made  into  the  most  exquisite 
dancer  Milan  has  probably  ever  seen  by  hard  exercise 
and  some  privations.  But  I  don't  think  I'd  better  con- 
tinue— Madame  is  so — so  innocent." 

"  Pish !  When  you  thought  me  a  child  in  short 
clothes,  I  was  a  widow !  "  laughs  Estelle ;  then  begs : 
"  Tell  me!  Mio  padrone  will  let  me  listen,"  she  adds, 
slipping  her  hand  into  Carlo's. 

"  Very  well,  gnadige  frau!  Having  made  her  suc- 
cess, Eugenia  begged  piteously  that  old  Paola  would 
permit  to  her  one  lover;  so  young  Hugo  Esterhazy, 
who  has  a  principality  in  Bohemia,  and  is  as  rich  as  a 
Lichenstein,  besides  being  probably  the  handsomest 
man  in  the  Regiment  Archduke  Charles,  has  become 
her  slave ;  purchased  her  indentures  from  old  Vicenza 
at  some  fabulous  price;  and  taken  la  contessa  in  tri- 
umph to  Vienna." 

At  this,  Estelle,  clenching  her  little  hand,  says,  vi- 
ciously :  "  Don't  laugh,  Carlo !  You  may  pardon  her 
villainies,  but  /  never  shall !  " 

"  And  why,  little  one  ?  " 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  307 

"  Because  that  woman,  for  one  moment,  made  you 
think  I  was  untrue  to  your  love." 

"  Please  remember  this,  dear  one :  that,  if  "Eugenia 
had  not  been  a  spy,  we  would  never  have  known  what 
a  friend  we  have  in  Franz,"  remarks  Carlo,  as  the  two 
gentlemen  walk  off,  and  Da  Messina  astonishes  Cre- 
mieux  by  introducing  his  Austrian  enemy  as  his 
brother. 

It  is  the  8th  of  June,  1859 — a  day  of  triumph  in  Mi- 
lano.  Victor  Emmanuel,  the  King  of  Sardinia,  and 
Louis  Napoleon,  the  Emperor  of  the  French,  have  en- 
tered the  capital  of  Lombardy,  from  which  its  pop- 
ulace, after  the  defeat  of  the  Austrians  at  Magenta, 
had  once  more  torn  down  the  Imperial  banners,  and 
thrown  to  the  breeze  the  flag  of  United  Italia. 

The  allied  armies  having  marched  in  during  the 
morning,  the  evening  is  a  gala  one;  among  its 
features  a  grand  performance  at  La  Scala. 

The  vast  house,  draped  from  pit  to  dome  with  the 
colors  of  France  and  Italy,  is  crowded  by  a  mighty 
audience,  made  brilliant  by  the  toilets  of  the  ladies  of 
the  old  Milanese  nobility  and  the  gorgeous  uniforms  of 
the  officers  of  two  armies.  The  great  Imperial  box,  in 
which  the  stout,  old  Radetzky  had  once  held  state  as 
Governor-General  of  Lombardy,  is  to  be  occupied  by 
the  Emperor  of  France  and  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Italy,  these  sovereigns  being  attended  by  dazzling 
staffs ;  the  young  Queen  by  a  bevy  of  fair  women  of 
exquisite  robes  and  noble  pedigrees. 

Then  the  strains  of  the  national  airs  of  France  and 
Italy,  played  by  a  vast  orchestra,  supplemented  by  the 
band  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  herald  the  entry  of  the 
united  sovereigns.  Soon  after  the  curtain  goes  up  on 
an  empty  stage. 

People  gaze  astonished  at  one  another ;  but  the  im- 
presario, coming  forward,  says :  "  The  greatest  tenor 
in  Italy  was  hissed  off  these  boards  by  his  country- 
men, because  he  loved  an  Austrian ;  yet  from  the  very 


308  ADRIENNE  DE   PORTALIS. 

spot  on  which  I  stand  he  proved  his  truth  to  his  country 
by  calling  to  his  unarmed  townsmen  to  rise  against  their 
tyrants !  No  man  shall  sing  upon  this  stage  till  Per- 
golese  sings !  " 

He  points  to  a  second-tier  box,  where  a  man  not  yet 
forty,  in  the  plain,  red  shirt  of  the  Garibaldians,  with  a 
captain's  insignia  upon  his  shoulders,  is  sitting  beside 
a  lady  in  the  very  zenith  of  her  beauty. 

Many  of  the  vast  audience  had  seen  Da  Messina  do 
the  deed;  had  heard  his  voice  cry  out  to  them  to  rise 
for  liberty !  Some  had  fought  beside  him  at  the  Tosa 
Gate! 

The  house  recognizes  him!  The  gallery  and  pit 
rise  up  and  cry :  "  VIVA  PERGOLESE  !  " 

The  boxes  take  it  up.  The  allied  sovereigns  beckon 
to  this  patriot,  whose  lovely  voice  in  exile  had  charmed 
the  world.  His  chief,  the  patriot  Garibaldi,  cries  from 
a  loge:  "  I  command  thee,  Carlo !  " 

In  a  jiffy  the  crowd  run  into  his  box,  pick  him  up 
on  their  shoulders,  and  carry  him  upon  the  stage ;  while 
Estelle  sits,  half  laughing,  half  weeping,  as  great  honor 
is  done  unto  the  man  she  loves. 

So,  standing  before  them  on  the  stage  from  which 
he  had  been  hissed,  Pergolese,  now  at  the  very  acme 
of  his  powers,  sings  to  them — first,  by  the  request  of 
the  King  of  Italy,  the  last  great  scena  from  "  Lucia," 
and  next  the  song  of  the  Garibaldians. 

This  last  he  delivers  with  the  majesty  of  a  patriot 
and  the  elan  of  a  zouave ;  and,  the  dramatic  timbre  of 
his  glorious  voice  putting  into  southern  hearts  romance, 
enthusiasm,  passion,  the  audience  begin  to  sing  with 
him  the  hymn  of  liberty. 

At  its  close,  showers  of  flowers  fall  upon  him,  the 
Queen  of  Italy  throwing  to  him  the  bouquet  presented 
by  the  Emperor  of  France. 

Being  called  into  the  Imperial  box,  from  it,  after  a 
moment,  the  warrior-tenor  turns,  wearing  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor,  given  to  him  by  the  Emperor  of 
the  French,  and  the  gold  medal  of  valor,  pinned  upon 


ADRIENNE  DE  PORTALIS.  309 

his  breast  by  his  King ;  the  fair  Queen  of  Italy  saying 
to  him :  "  After  this  is  over,  Cavaliere,  present  your 
wife  to  me.  I  am  told  she  did  an  angel's  part  when, 
ten  years  ago,  this  great  theater  was  a  hospital." 

But  as  he  rejoins  her  in  their  box,  Estelle  sees  her 
husband's  brow  is  contemplative,  and  asks  the  reason. 
To  her  he  answers :  "  A  return  from  exile  is  always 
painful.  As  I  stood  upon  the  stage  there,  I  thought  of 
my  poor  Luciano,  who  laid  down  his  life  so  gallantly 
for  Italia  before  the  City  of  the  Seven  Hills,  and  many 
other  noble  souls  who  have  gone  from  us  forever." 

"  Yes ;  but  at  least  let  us  thank  God,  Carlo,  that  dear, 
old  Franz  is  stationed  in  Hungary;  so  your  swords 
will  not  clash  in  this  war,  as  in  the  other.  But  that  is 
not  all  that  ruffles  you,  my  husband,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  quite.  To-night  is  the  last  time  I  sing  in 
public." 

"  Gran  Dio !     Your  voice  was  never  more  lovely !  " 

"  Yes ;  that's  the  reason.  This  is  my  perihelion.  It's 
better  to  disappear  in  a  blaze  of  glory  like  a  rocket 
than  flicker  out  as  a  tallow-dip.  I  have  sufficient  for- 
tune. In  ten  years  from  now  some  other  gentleman 
would  sing  me  off  the  stage.  Dead  tenors  are  not 
remembered  long ;  though  patriots  and  statesmen  some- 
times live  forever."  Then  his  eyes  blaze  up ;  he  whis- 
pers, very  tenderly :  "  Besides,  dear  one,  there  is  no 
other  fugitive  Baronne  for  Pergolese  to  indenture " 

"  And  forever  afterward  make  happy !  "  laughs  Es- 
telle. "  But,  Mon  Dieu!  put  on  a  brighter  face  when 
you  present  thy  bound-girl  to  the  Queen  of  Italy,  mio 
padrone! " 

For  this  mutinous  speech,  in  the  anteroom  of  the  box, 
the  fair  apprentice  gets  a  most  savage  kiss, 

FINIS. 


Mr.  Potter 


of  Texas. 


AMERICAN  EDITION, 


ENGLISH    EDITION, 


"The  description  of  the  Bom- 
bardment of  Alexandria,  in  <Mr. 
Potter  of  Texas,'  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  stirring  picture  painted  by 
the  pen  of  any  writer  in  several 
generations" 


Baron  Montez 


4  NOfEL. 

BY 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER, 

AUTHOR   OF 

«Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  "Mr.  Potter  of  Teaa,"  etc. 


"  Here,  certainly,  is  a  rattling  story.** 

— N.  K  Times,  June  5th,  1893. 

"Mr.  Gunter  has  written  nothing  better  than  the 
volume  before  us,  and  that  is  high  praise  indeed,  for 
his  writings  in  recent  years  have  had  a  worldwide 
reputation." 

— Ohio  State  Journal,  Columbus,  May  29,  1893. 

*  With  the  merit  of  continuous  and  thrilling  interest" 
— Chicago  Times,  May  27,  1893. 

i 

"  The  latest  of  Mr.  Gunter's  popular  romances  will  be 
read  with  interest  by  the  many  who  have  already  followed 
the  fortunes  of  *  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,'  and  '  Mr. 
Potter  of  Texas.' " 

—  The  Times,  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  May  20,  1893. 

"  This  is  a  story  of  thrilling  interest." 

—Christian  Leader,  Cincinnati,  June  6,  1893. 


DON  BALASCO 
OF  KEY  WEST 

BY 

ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 

AUTHOR    OF 

j.     V*MR.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK";  "A  PRINCESS  OF  PARIS"; 
"THE  KING'S  STOCKBROKER,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


The  first  thin;  we  have  to  s;  /  after  reading  this  marvelous  story  of  ad- 
venture, intrigue,  deception,  Spanish  brutality,  Cuban  patriotism,  love  and 
fidelity,  sacrifice  and  heroism,  and  the  inexcusably  cold  indifference  of  the 
United  States  Government:  that  cold  and  criminally  apathetic  must  be  thf 
heart  of  the  man  who  does  not  at  once  become  an  ardent  sympathizer  and  a 

beneficent  actor  with  the  Cubans  struggling  for  life  and  liberty 

.  .  The  description  of  the  West  Indies  by  the  gifted  author — of  the  seas  and 
islands,  and  of  the  people— American,  Spanish,  and  Cuban— and  of  the  climate, 
and  of  the  manners,  and  customs,  and  temperaments  of  a  volatile  people,  is  a 
piece  of  word  painting  truly  sublime  and  fascinating. 

—Christian  Leader,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


Plenty  of  the  romance,  excitement,  and  surprise  for  which  Mr.  Gunter's 
Hovels  are  noted.— Betton  Journal. 


Have  you  read  Mr.  Archibald  Clavering  Gunter's  latest  story?  If  not, 
get  a  copy  at  once  at  the  nearest  news-stand .  Before  you  begin  it,  however, 
eat  a  good  square  meal,  for  you  will  not  eat  again  until  you  have  finished  the 
book.  Thai  is  true  of  all  his  stories.—  The  Rochester  Courier. 


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What  some  of  America  s 
ablest   Critics  say  of 

JACK  CURZON 

SJF 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

r 

"We  find  a  itory  of  great  vivacity  in  A.  C.  Gunter's  'Jack  Curzon.' " — N.  Y,  Sun. 

"I*  full  of  rf  ish  and  abound*  with  dramatic  incident." — New  Haven  Miming 
Knot, 

"The  book  ha*  lot*  of  humor  in  it,  is  intensely  interesting,  and  will  certainly 
meet  with  universal  favor." — Daily  Journal,  Phillipsburg,  Pa, 

"Gunter  is  certainly  the  novelist  of  the  day,  who  comes  nearest  to  Alexander 
Dumas,  and  to  our  taste  he  surpasses  the  Frenchman.  If  you  doubt  this,  throw  aside 
your  encyclopedia  and  history,  and  study  the  Filipino  question,  with  Jack  Curzon  a* 
your  guide  and  entertainer." — The  Prett-Kniclerbocker,  Albany,  N.  Y. 

"Jack  Curzon  will  be  received  with  pleasure  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Gunter  has  all  the  faculties  of  a  successful  novelist.  He  is  a  graceful,  forceful,  pun- 
gent writer  as  occasion  requires.  He  is  a  shrewd  analyzer  of  character,  and  an  excellent 
weaver  of  plots  in  which  there  is  a  warp  and  woof  of  amusing  and  thrilling  incident." 
'--Oakland  Tribune. 

"Romance  lurks  in  every  corner  of  the  story,  and  is  guided  with  the  special  skill 
for  which  Mr.  Gunter  has  already  acquired  a  reputation.  The  tropical  nature  of  the 
•urrounJings  of  Manila  are  painted  with  spirited  color,  and  the  author's  knowledge  of 
prevailing  Spat  ^  conditions  is  strongly  handled.  The  story  is  throughout  one  of  ver- 
•atile  Incident,  so  glowingly  touched  with  reality  that  the  clinching  argument  of  the 
scenes  so  nearly  simultaneously  with  the  American  viftory  at  Manila  bring  "Jack  Cur- 
zon" forward  as  one  of  the  most  absorbing  novels  of  the  season  .  .  .  Mr.  Guntei 
could  not  well  have  written  a  novel  that  would  win  more  unanimous  interest.  It  i* 
equipped  with  every  possible  factor  to  hold  human  attention,  and  is  moreover  pene- 
trated by  peculiar  mental  virility  and  color. "--Boston  Ideas. 

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BOB  COVINGTON 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

Archibald  Clavering  Gunter 

"Of  intense  interest." — St.  Louis  Star. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  line  between  the  covers." 

— St.  Louis  Post-Despatch^ 

4 

"Better  thanliMrXBarneslof 

e  — London  Times. \ 


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j^ 

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Wl 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


M.  S.  Bradford 

Special 

A  MARVELOUS  STORY  OF  THE  DAY 


...  BY  ... 

ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

Author  of 

"  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  "  Bob  Covington," 
"Billy  Hamilton,"  "Jack  Curzon,"  Etc. 


The  Boot  is  divided  into  three  most  unique  yet  aadacion* 
episodes,  entitled: 

1.    THE  INVESTIGATION  DOWN  TOWN 
II.    THE  ROMANCE   UP  TOWN 
III.    ADAM  AND  EVE   IN  WALL   STREET 


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BY 

Archibald    Clavering   Gunter 

is  divided  as  follows 

BOOK  I 

A  NEW  ENGLAND  HOTEL  MAN 
diopter       1   The  Drummer  of  the  Village  Band 
•«          //    Mrs.  Russell's  Dinner  Party 
«•        ///    The  Deacon's  Letter  smells  of  Vice 
"        IV    A  Brand  snatched  from  the  Burning 
«         r    Venus  at  the  V7ashtub 

BOOK  // 

THE  PASSIONS  OF  A  HERMIT 
Cfaftcr     VI    Miss  Broxton  decides  she  is  not  in  Love 
"       VII    Society  drives  into  the  Deacon's  Back  Yard 
"     VIII    The  Marble-headed  Man 
"        IX    Brother  Ver  Planck 
"         X   ANewAbelard 

BOOK  III 

THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  RUTHY  ABBOTT 
Chapter    XI    Elder  Ver  Planck's  Washing  Powder 
«       xil    «  Tell  me  who  Ruth  Abbott  is  I " 
"     XIII    "Give  the  Deacon  his  Second  Wind" 
««     XIV    "  Down  on  your  Knees,  Squire  Perkiael" 
"       XV    A  Prejudice  cruel  as  Death 

BOOK  IV 

THE  DEACON'S  SECOND  WIND 

« Sic  him,  Rover  I " 
XVII    «  Was  that  Dad  ?  " 
XVIII    Tpmpkins's  Photographic  Gallery 
XIX    Tight  Boots  have  made  ye  cranky,  Deacon 
XX    Voices  from  Box  B 
XXI    The  Surprises  of  a  Night 

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PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


PHIL  CONWAY 

-By 

Archibald  Clavering  Guntcr 

THIS   extraordinary  story    of   how   a  trip    to    Central 
America  nearly  ruined  the  happiness  of  one  of  New 
York's  great  speculators  and  financiers  equals  in  interest 
the  famous  novel  "Ma.  BARNES  OF  NEW  YORK,"  by  the  same 
author,  and  consequently  will  have  the  same  unprecedented 
number  of  readers. 

The  following  partial  list  of  chapters  will  convey  in  part, 
the  scope  and  interest  of  this  most  dramatic  novel : 

IN  A  BACHELOR'S  APARTMENT  HOUSE 

THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  PARROT'S  CAGE 
THE  BROKEN  SCISSORS 

THE  LADY  AT  THE  HOTEL  WINDOW 
THE  WIFE  OF  THE  REFUGEE 

THE  TELEGRAM  SENT  FROM  COBAN 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  FUGITIVE 

ON  THE  DECK  OF  THE  NEW  ORLEANS  BOAT 
THE  LITTLE  FLAT  IN  FIFTY-EIGHTH  STREET 
A  TETE-A-TETE  MULEBACK  RIDE 

His  MAGNIFICENT  ENEMY 

THE  OPEN  TELEPHONE 
A  LADY  VISITS  THE  BACHELOR'S  FLAT 
THE  FAIRY  BRIDAL  GIFT 

••BEFORE  THE  ALTAR  I  BURY  MY  FATHER'S  WRONGS" 

••HER  LIKE  FIRST,  HER  LOVE  AFTERWARDS" 

THE  SURPRISES  OF  A  NIGHT 

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PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


J    ti    jf    *       Out 

he     C  I  T  Y     of 

MYSTERY 


-/\rcKibald    v^lavering    Counter 

IN  the  year  1851  inaugurating  the  era  of  vast  improvements  in  the 
streets  and  boulevards  in  the  City  of  Paris,  there  were  demolished 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie,  seventy-five  buildings,  among  them 
some  of  the  most  celebrated  and  venerable  in  ancient  Paris. 

During  the  destruction  of  one  of  these  gloomy  old  edifices, 
evidences  were  discovered  that  it  had  been  the  infamous  private  prison 
mentioned  by  Saint  Simon  and  other  writers  of  the  French  Regency, 
the  one  kept  under  the  orders  of  Monsieur  Marc  Rene  d'Argenson, 
Lieutenant  General  of  the  Police  or  Paris,  by  his  exempt  officer  Pomereu, 
in  which  were  incarcerated  without  process  of  law  any  unfortunate 
persons  that  official  thought  proper  to  seclude. 

An  attempt  by  Parliament  t     correct  this  abuse  by  the  arrest 
of  Pomereu  himself,  was  instantly  defeated  by  a  lettre  de  cachet 
from  the  Regent,  and  the  house  of  mysterious  disappearances  re- 
mained in   its   full  dread  mediaeval-prison  significance   overawing 
personal  liberty  in  Paris,  very  little  known,  very  little  talked 
about,  one  of  the  secret,  silent,  ghastly  of  horrors  of  the  world. 

In  one  of  the  offices  attached  to  its  gloomy  cells  were 
found  a  series  of  papers  buried  or  forgotten  for  two  centuries, 
consisting  chiefly  of  extracts  taken  from  the  archive    of 
the  Exempt,  Pomereu  himself,  describing  some  ot  the 
very  private  intrigues,  plots  and  cabals  of  thaf.  marvellous 
epoch  when  Paris  became  the  centre  of  the  finance   ot 
the  world,  adding  the  extraordinary  vivacity  of  spec- 
ulations so  grand  and  so  bizarre,  that  they  lent  ro- 
mance to  the  sombre  yet  pompous  atrocities  of  the 
ancient  regime. 

The  first  of  these,  powerful  as  a  secret 
of  the  police,  and  absorbing  as  the  story 
a  great  conspiracy  is  entitled 
"THE  CITY  OF  MYSTERY.' 

Cloth  £1.5O  Taper  SO  CenU 


A  Novel  of  Startling  Interest 

in  the  complications  which  have  lately  arisen  in    the 
Far  East  between 

RUSSIA  AND  JAPAN 

""Tangled  Flag's" 

By  ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING  GUNTER 

The  hero  of  the  story  is  a  Japanese  officer  educated 
at  West  Point  and  purchasing  artillery  for  his  govern- 
ment from  an  American  Connecticut  arms  manufactory. 
His  views  on  Russian  aggression  are  typical  of  the  ideas 
of  his  country. 

No  novel  in  recent  years  has  had  a  larger  sale 

"A  rattling  romance." — -New  York  Herald. 

"Mr.  Gunter  will  retain  his  public  as  long  as  he  turns  out  such  boolu  M 
•Tangled  Flags.'  " — Ne-w  Tor  A  Ma'!  and  Express. 

"  'Tangled  Flags'  is  a  book  well  worthy  to  begin  the  literature  of  the  new 
century.  Osuri  ICatsuma  stands  forth  as  strongly  as  any  of  Dumas 's  heroes.'* 
• — The  Literary  News. 

"While  the  flags  of  the  nations  are  becoming  entangled  in  Peking,  it  it 
•mall  wonder  that  these  people,  so  diverse  in  character  and  training  and  purpose, 
should  entangle  their  fortunes  and  affairs.  But  few  living  novelists  have  the 
genius  and  the  personal  acquaintance  with  the  scenes  and  events  ihat  will  help 
to  weave  them  into  such  a  satisfactory  romance  as  'Tangled  Flags.'  "-<•» 
Bookseller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer. 


Cloth.  £1.5O  faper.  SO  CenU 

At  all  Booksellers  or  sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

Hurst  and   Company, 
PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


University  of  California 

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